


Like Real People Do

by glimmerglanger



Series: LRPD [1]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Fix-It of Sorts, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Plot, battlefield romance, cloning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:02:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 140,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22832977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glimmerglanger/pseuds/glimmerglanger
Summary: The man grinned again, offering out a hand. “I’m JC-B3N. You can call me Ben, all my brothers do. I’m your Type 2 clone.” Anakin stared at him, the man’s – Ben’s – hand hanging between them in the air. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, General Skywalker.”OR, the one where the arrival of new clones disrupts the lives of Jedi Generals throughout the fleet. Anakin and Qui-Gon are hit harder than most. But these soldiers, wearing the face of a dead man, might have a larger role to play in the fate of the galaxy as a whole.
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Series: LRPD [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1689022
Comments: 568
Kudos: 941
Collections: Well Written Well Composed Well Loved, favourite fics from a galaxy far far away





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this fic off and on for... more than two years now. I'm finally pretty happy with the way it's shaping up. It's almost finished, so I'm ready to start posting it. I'll update every Friday. It's a long one, folks, buckle up.

Anakin didn’t expect to be woken midway through a rest cycle. They all deserved a break after the campaign on Ryloth, and the time spent in travel from one emergency to the next - ending in this rush to Bothawui - hadn’t quite given any of them enough time to recover. He certainly didn’t expect to be awoken by a grim-voiced message from Rex, informing him that he better get down to the docking bays as soon as physically possible, if not sooner, to see some kind of new secret weapon.

Anakin grumbled, shoved his hair back from his face, and rolled out of his bunk. The last secret weapon they’d been provided with had been a stealth ship, which had proved more than useful for a brief period of time. The promise of something equally beneficial to the war effort helped scrub away the fading vestiges of sleep.

He decided to allow Ahsoka to keep sleeping, though. She’d been exhausted by their time on Ryloth. No reason to wear her out further. He finished tugging his robes straight as he reached the docking bay; last time, a high-ranking official had dropped off the secret weapon they’d entrusted to him. It probably wouldn’t do to make a bad first impression on whoever they’d sent this time.

He took a final bracing breath and walked through the door.

No brand new ships jumped out at him as he strolled forward. Then again, the last one had been cloaked. Rex was standing over to one side, by a transport ship Anakin did not recognize, speaking with someone dressed in something like Jedi robes, spruced up here and there with pieces of armor that resembled what the clones wore.

The newcomer spoke with a faint accent - Coruscanti - and had copper-colored hair, pale eyes, a scattering of freckles above a neatly trimmed beard. He was lit up in the Force, obviously sensitive to it’s whims. Despite the glow of the Force, his robes, and the accent, Anakin did not recognize him from the Temple.

He felt certain that he would have remembered seeing the man before. He’d be… difficult to forget. As though picking up on the thought - Anakin was sure he hadn’t been projecting - the man turned, casting him a smile as he crossed the hangar floor. “Ah,” the man said, “you must be General Skywalker.”

Anakin hadn’t yet decided how that title sat with him. On the one hand, he deserved it after the victories he’d secured for the Republic. On the other hand, they’d given it to all of the Jedi, regardless of their martial skills… He shook that thought aside and nodded a greeting. “I am,” he said. “Now, where’s this secret weapon?

The man’s smile widened. He said, “Take another step forward and you’ll be close enough to kiss it.” He had sparkling eyes. He looked… young, even with the beard. And attractive enough that his comment drew Anakin’s gaze automatically down to his mouth.

It was generous. Tempting. Anakin shook that thought aside. “Excuse me?” he said, glancing back up at the man’s dancing eyes. There was something familiar about them, something jumping up and down in his mind, yelling at him to  _ remember _ .

The man gestured at himself, raising an eyebrow expectantly. Anakin looked at Rex and back to the man, feeling treacherous heat trying to rise beneath his skin. “And what makes you a secret weapon?” he asked. He  _ knew  _ the man, he had to, but he could not place the face. They must have run into one another at the Temple at some point, impossible as that seemed. Maybe Anakin had been in one of his bleaker moods. Master Qui-Gon always said he failed to pay appropriate attention to his surroundings on those days.

The man grinned again, offering out a hand. “I’m JC-B3N. You can call me Ben, all my brothers do. I’m your Type 2 clone.” Anakin stared at him, the man’s – Ben’s – hand hanging between them in the air. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, General Skywalker.”

And something about his tone, about the way he said the words, finally connected A to B in Anakin’s head. He looked away from Ben’s hand, into his clear eyes, and felt the world shift under his feet. He was staring into the face of a dead man, a man he had not recognized from this angle. The last time he had seen this face he had been nine and desperate to become a Jedi. Last time he had seen this face, there’d been no beard. Last time he’d seen this face it had been on a funeral pyre.

“Oh, Force,” he said, feeling the blood through his veins chilling to ice. “You’re Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Ben frowned at him, just a little, cocking his head to the side. “I assure you, I am not. My designation is—”

“Those motherkriffers  _ cloned him _ ,” Anakin snapped, turning on his heel, his thoughts suddenly full of noise and fury, racing ahead of the conversation, taking pieces and shoving them together to create the perfect picture of everything that must have happened. Those kriffing meddlers on Kamino  _ cloned a Jedi _ . And not just that. They’d cloned his Master’s old apprentice, whose face Anakin had never quite forgotten, for all that Qui-Gon had never spoken of him after his death. Another thought struck Anakin between the ribs, sharp as a blade. He stopped, twisting back. “How many of you are there? And what do you mean  _ my  _ Type 2?”

Ben was watching him with a puzzled look, his hand still half-extended, left hanging awkwardly. He said, carefully, “Our initial run was 100 strong. And those who completed training have been assigned to the Jedi Generals. There were several groups deployed directly to the front, to provide immediate assistance to particularly beleaguered sections of the line.” He frowned. “Is that… alright?”

Anakin swore again, turning aside. He needed to contact Qui-Gon  _ immediately _ . “No,” he snapped. “Not remotely.” He waved a hand at Rex as he left the hangar. “Take care of…. this,” he said and stormed out.

#

Qui-Gon received a message from Anakin, flagged urgent – but most of Anakin’s messages were, as though he were worried he would be ignored if he didn’t shout louder than everyone else – just as he was called to the bridge of his cruiser for some important matter directly related to the Senate. He knew they’d received a passenger from the ship that met them on their way to Coruscant to allow Qui-Gon to participate - at least briefly - in the direction of the Council and he could put two and two together.

He sighed, tucking Anakin’s message away to be examined after he found out what the Senate wanted, and stepped onto the bridge.

His troopers were all standing at attention, radiating a sense of curiosity he had not picked up from them since the early days of the war, before the coolness of the galaxy had robbed them of the ability to find enjoyment in simply exploring the world around them. They were all focused on a figure on the other side of the control center, a figure wearing Jedi robes, and didn’t that just explain their fascination. They always looked forward to meeting new members of the Order. Qui-Gon did not… quite recognize the newcomer’s Force signature, though something about it felt very familiar, tugging at an aching part of his memory that he’d long since gotten used to tucking away.

“Ah,” he said, ducking around the command center, nodding to his Commander – Cody – as he went. “You must be our—”

His words ground to a halt as he finally caught sight of their new passenger. His thoughts just  _ stopped _ . He forgot how to breathe. His heart stuttered in his chest, and the Jedi before him turned, as though noticing his distress, the boy’s expression showing concern and—

And it could not be  _ him _ . It could not be, but the brilliant eyes were the same. The short strands of copper hair were the same, though he wore no Padawan braid. Qui-Gon knew the cleft in his chin and the upturn of his mouth in the corners. Qui-Gon  _ knew  _ the way he held his weight, the little furrow between his brow – appearing already – that showed he was worried about something he was picking up from Qui-Gon through the Force.

Qui-Gon stared at the newcomer and blurted, helplessly, “Obi-Wan.”

But it  _ could not be _ . He had last seen Obi-Wan so many years ago, on a world far from here, holding his apprentice while the life drained away from him, Obi-Wan smiling up at him with tears in his eyes, both of them holding their hands over the grievous wound through his stomach, knowing it to be deadly.

Qui-Gon had watched Obi-Wan burn, feeling something in his chest turn to ash alongside the pyre. Qui-Gon had taken on a Padawan immediately afterwards, sooner than he should,  _ needing  _ to prove to everyone that he had been right, that the boy was the Chosen One, that, somehow, the cosmic trade of Obi-Wan’s life for the boy’s discovery had been  _ worth it _ .

And now Obi-Wan stood before him, wearing a mix of Jedi robes and trooper armor, looking not a day older than he had that terrible day on Naboo, perhaps younger, even. A lightsaber hung at his waist. Not his. Qui-Gon had his, still, packed away carefully with his few belongings. The Council hadn’t approved of that. 

Obi-Wan cocked his head to the side, his smile falling away as he gazed up at Qui-Gon, shorter than Anakin, shorter than Anakin had been for  _ years _ . “I’m afraid you’ve confused me for another of my brothers. JC-OB1 is with another General,” the man with Obi-Wan’s face said, concern stealing across his expression, “my designation is JC-N30. You can call me Once, if you prefer. I’ve been assigned to your battalion.” He glanced around when Qui-Gon continued to stare and asked, quietly, “General, are you alright?”

“Your designation,” Qui-Gon said, finally, stirring his tongue from where it stuck to the roof of his mouth. He could feel everyone on the bridge staring, all of the clones caught in the oddity of the moment and abandoning their duties. They would not know, he realized. They had no way to recognize Obi-Wan. He had died years before they— “What do you mean?”

Obi-Wan blinked at him, shifting his shoulders in the way he did when he was uncomfortable and nervous. “I…” he wetted his lips and looked to Cody as though for support, before glancing back at Qui-Gon. “Did you not receive the briefing concerning my arrival?”

Qui-Gon reached out to the Force for balance, or intended to, but he could not help but stretch his senses out to Obi-Wan, who felt—

Curious and intrigued by the world, worried that he would be rejected by the General he had been sent to serve, and—

And decades old memories cut up beneath Qui-Gon’s skin, of his first meetings with Obi-Wan, a boy he had not wished to take as apprentice. He recalled suddenly the  _ agony  _ he’d shut out of his thoughts for so long, the sting of his initial rejection always coloring their bond, always leaving a feeling of not-good-enough to pass over from Obi-Wan’s mind to his, the ache of it seeping through even as Obi-Wan lie dying in his arms, staining that last memory, echoing forevermore in Qui-Gon’s thoughts. Obi-Wan had hoped, cradled to Qui-Gon’s chest, that he’d get an apprentice worthy of him.

Qui-Gon jerked forward, unable to maintain his distance. He grabbed Obi-Wan and pulled him close. Obi-Wan stiffened in his arms, demanding, “General Jinn?”

A laugh burst from Qui-Gon’s throat, aching and raw. He pushed Obi-Wan back to arm’s length, looking him over, an old wound in his chest tearing open anew, a bone rebroken so that it could be set properly. “You  _ are  _ him,” he said. “How? How did this happen?”

“I…” Obi-Wan glanced around the room again. He sounded apologetic and confused when he spoke again. “General, I’m not sure what you’re… I’m to assist you with all missions. I’m… Cloning happened, I suppose.” He looked back, something haunted and unsure in his eyes. “Did you… know my progenitor?”

The world went still as Qui-Gon absorbed the words and all they implied. For a moment, he felt light-headed. A clone. Someone had  _ cloned Obi-Wan _ and for a flash anger pushed through the white-noise in his mind. How dare they? How dare  _ anyone  _ use his apprentice in this way, how dare they—

“Oh, you’re angry,” Obi-Wan said, his eyes moving as he read Qui-Gon’s emotions, the way he’d always been able to do so easily. He shrank back, the way he had as a boy, realizing that Qui-Gon did not want him, taking a wound that would never completely heal. Fresh agony bloomed in Qui-Gon’s chest, and he shook his head, tightening his grip on Obi-Wan’s shoulders.

“No,” he said, taking in the unchanged visage, shifting his hand to touch the side of Obi-Wan’s head, shoving aside the wash of anger. Whoever had done this was – sick. But there was a part of Qui-Gon that wanted nothing more than to find them and buy them a round of drinks. They had returned Obi-Wan to him. “No, I—I am simply surprised to see you.”

Obi-Wan watched him, head tilting a little to the side. “Because you knew my progenitor,” he said, like a question.

Qui-Gon shook his head. “Because you’re my apprentice,” he said, unable to decide on where to look next, “and I thought I’d never have a chance to see you again.” He could not stop the wide smile that broke across his face. This was a miracle, a gift of the Force, and he could feel it’s rightness through every inch of his body.

#

Ahsoka found Rex down in the trooper barracks. She’d woken up with a headache, courtesy of whatever had got Anakin’s robes in a twist. She could feel the overflow of his frustration right through the training bond, but no alarms were going off. No one aboard seemed particularly worried but him, so she didn’t go looking for him.

Trying to get information out of Anakin when he didn’t feel like sharing - and he never felt like sharing - was a tremendous waste of time. She’d learned fast that it was far easier to find out what she needed to know by visiting Rex. He was a much softer mark, and the clones knew most of what went on around the ship, whether they were technically supposed to or not.

She tracked his signature in the Force down to the barracks, stepping into a bunk room to find him talking to a strange Jedi she didn’t know, who was saying, “--appreciate your help, Captain. I suppose my meeting with the General could have gone better.”

“Could have gone worse,” Rex said, with a little shrug, glancing over when the door opened and nodding at Ahsoka. She took it as an invitation, wandering over, stretching out her mind towards the newcomer. He felt Force sensitive, warmer than those with a limited connection to the Force, and he turned as she approached. “Ahsoka, this is Lieutenant Commander JC-B3N. Sir, this is Ahsoka, the General’s Padawan.”

“Call me Ben,” JC-B3N said, extending a hand and smiling. 

Ahsoka felt a little jolt when she took his hand, a strange, temporary lurch in the Force that eased after a moment. She’d felt similar before, meeting other Masters, as though the living Force moved around them, grounding out in others who came too close. She said, releasing his hand and setting the feeling aside, “Alright, uh, Ben.” She glanced at Rex. “I’m a bit, I mean, what are--”

“I’m a clone,” Ben said, with a little shrug. “Assigned to assist you and the General.”

She stared, some unpleasant tinge of emotion flowing through her. “A Jedi clone?” She’d been working with Rex and his brothers for most of the war. She’d gotten used to the idea of them quickly, she rarely thought about their origins anymore. When was there time? But someone had cloned a Jedi and that felt… Horrific.

“Mm.” Ben shook his head. “No, I’m not a Jedi. My brothers and I are just Force sensitive.It’s--” They were interrupted, then, when Admiral Yularen entered the barracks, looking around and finally settling his attention on them with a scowl.

“JC-B3N,” he said, and Ben straightened, coming to attention. “I’ve just processed your orders. I need you to come with me.”

“Sir.” Ben flashed a last smile to Ahsoka, nodded at Rex, and marched from the room. Ahsoka blinked after him, still feeling vaguely nauseous. 

“Did you know about...him? Them?” she asked, still staring at the door.

“No.” Rex had moved, crossing the room. She turned to follow him. “No, they weren’t made in our facilities. The General didn’t know, either, as far as I can tell.”

Anakin still felt angry, across the bond. He’d never managed to shield his emotions from her effectively. She’d never been able to decide if he didn’t care to try or if he simply couldn’t cover over everything he felt. He must have been angry they’d cloned a Jedi, as well. Ahsoka shuddered. “I can’t believe they’d clone a Jedi. That’s...”

Rex stilled, glancing back over at her, something sharp in his gaze that strangled off anything else she might have said. He said, voice carefully toneless, “That’s what?”

And she thought of all the thousands of his brothers, moving around the galaxy,  _ dying  _ in battles throughout the war. Endless copies. She’d gotten used to them. Relied on them without thinking. Counted on them to protect her, to serve the Republic, to just be there, doing as they were told.

“Nothing,” she said, some hot creep of shame rising suddenly in the back of her throat, spurred on by all the things she’d never taken the time to think about, only brought to her attention now, as she imagined someone cloning a person just like her. She swallowed, looking away. “Nothing,” she added, feeling wretched, all at once, “I’m sorry.”

Rex was quiet for a moment, before exhaling. “Don’t be sorry, kid.” He nudged his shoulder against hers. “Come on, you can help me finish sorting his paperwork. Gonna be a nightmare, him sleeping down here, mark my words.”

She blinked, grateful for the change of subject even if she was confused. “What? Why?”

He glanced at her, snorted, and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll get it sorted.”

#

General Jinn  insisted on giving  Once  a personal tour of the  _ Fallen Star _ , the great ship that served as his center of command. He seemed intent on showing  Once everything, all at once, sweeping around the bridge and then down the halls with his long legs, all the time radiating a kind of strange hunger— _ need, _ almost—at  Once .

They were accompanied on their tour by General Jinn’s commander, who watched the proceedings with an arched brow and curious expression. His face had been badly scarred at some point in the past and no one had properly repaired the damage.  Once  avoided staring at the scar that remained on his brow. He had enough other things to focus on, and, besides, none of his brothers who… varied in appearance appreciated it when undue attention was drawn to the oddity.

“I assume you’ll be working closely with Commander Cody,” General Jinn said, after a brief tour of the troop barracks, as his communicator went off for the third time. He’d brushed aside  Once’s  question about his bunk location, saying something about a different room assignment, which had only served to ensure that  Once stayed  off of his balance.

“Yes, General Jinn,”  Once started, only for General Jinn to turn and tut down at him.

“Call me Qui-Gon,” he corrected, with a smile that crinkled the skin around his eyes. “Well, then I’ll briefly leave you two to get acquainted. It seems I’m needed urgently. I’ll see you again shortly.” He gestured with the communicator and turned aside, leaving  Once with the sensation that he would, finally, be able to catch his breath.

“Not what you expected?” Cody asked, something thoughtful in his voice.  Once glanced over at him and marshalled a smile that made something in Cody’s expression shift.  Once c ould not get a bead on what he felt. There was too much in his head from General Jinn to manage that. A headache was growing up from the back of his neck with terrible speed.

“Not exactly,”  Once said, resisting the urge to rub at his temples. It would not do to start showing weakness immediately.

Cody nodded. “General Jinn can take you like that at first.”

“And I remind him of someone else.” That seemed the best way to put it.

Cody grimaced just a little, the first true shift in his expression that  Once had spotted. “Can’t help you there.” He sighed and gestured down the hall. “Well, I suppose I could introduce you to the men? Unless you need to go get settled?”

Once did not even know  _ where  _ he was supposed to get settled. General Jinn had neglected to show him to his new quarters during their tour. Besides, entering empty quarters would leave him alone with too many thoughts he didn’t know what to do with. “I think some introductions sound like the best plan, yes.”

#

Introductions went well enough, Cody thought, before General Jinn reappeared to sweep  Once off to a meeting down on Coruscant. Once handled the stares and questions with good grace, smiling when he was asked about his name by Crys. “I told one of our instructions, always long-winded, that I only needed to hear their instructions once to understand,” he said, shrugging when Crys snorted a laugh. “The name stuck.”

The troopers had been warming up fast by the time the General reappeared, looking harried from his communication, and took off with Once, heading down to Coruscant. The newbie had cast a single look back – seeking out Cody’s gaze – before he was swept out of the room with one of General Jinn’s hands on his shoulder.

Something about the feel of Once’s eyes sent a sharp little thrill down Cody’s spine, something that he tried to tuck away immediately. He was aided in that task by Boil. “So, they’re replacing us with newer models, huh?” Boil grumbled, as General Jinn hurried Once away. “Figures. Well, if they think some shiny—”

Cody fully registered the complaint at his back and turned, scowling, to glower at Boil, who took a step back. “That’s not how we talk about our own,” he growled, the words coming out low and rough. “I expect better of you.” He looked out across the gathered troopers. “ _ All  _ of you.”

“Sorry, Commander,” Boil demurred, looking to the side with a ruddy flush in his cheeks. “It won’t happen again.”

“It better not.” Cody glanced back down the hall, in the direction where General Jinn and Once had disappeared. He had a bad feeling about  _ that  _ in his gut. “I have a feeling he’s going to have enough problems.” The last thing Once needed was misplaced jealousy from the people on the ship who should have understood him best. “You’re to give him the same respect as the General. Help him settle in. He’s… family in a way.”

“He doesn’t  _ look  _ like family,” another trooper said, something low and interested in his voice. He got a few chuckles.

“Stow it, Marsh.” Cody pushed down the burn of hot irritation up his spine. The newbie  _ didn’t  _ look much like them. There was nothing about him obviously built for battle. He didn’t even resemble General Jinn, but, then, the Generals came in all shapes and sizes. Jinn just happened to be a mountain of a man. Once did not look, with his pale eyes and unscarred face, outwardly very dangerous. He looked…

Well, something about him seemed to start a fire low in Cody’s gut, stirring a heat in him that he’d heard his brothers speak about every so often, but only experienced once or twice on his own. It made him want to - briefly - punch Marsh in the face and tell him to watch his tone. He pushed that urge down. It wasn’t very professional. “Treat him like a brother. Don’t let me catch you doing otherwise.”

He got a chorus of affirmative answers to his glare and turned aside. He needed to get some information together for their new officer. Jinn did not look like he had the needs of the mission at the forefront of his thoughts, and he hadn’t since recognition had broken across his expression.

Someone was going to need to get their shiny newcomer ready for whatever they were going to end up facing next. That probably fell into Cody’s purvey as Commander. And if it required him to spend some more time around the shiny Qui-Gon kept calling Obi-Wan, well… 

He shifted that thought to the back of his mind, where it belonged, and got to work.

#

Anakin wanted to wait for a reply from Qui-Gon before speaking with the clone again, but the situation above Bothawui would not wait for his old Master’s somewhat scattershot ideas about replying to communications, so he sighed and tucked away his irritation. Anakin went back to the hangar bay with his stomach in tight knots.

Ben was speaking with Admiral Yularen when Anakin entered the hangar, both of them bent over a table, Ben gesturing at a star map while explaining something to the admiral. He looked up at Anakin’s approach and smiled, a bit tightly. “There you are,” he said. “I was beginning to think I’d need to deliver this payload myself.”

Anakin frowned. It was jarring to look at Ben after realizing who he was, or had been, or was built from; clones were a complicated problem. Anakin had not realized that he’d grown so much taller than Qui-Gon’s old apprentice. Or that Ben’s eyes sparkled the way they did. He hadn’t been of an age to notice, the first time they met.

“That won’t be necessary,” he said, setting aside the tangle of his thoughts. He didn’t like that the Kaminoans had cloned a Jedi, but he couldn’t do anything about it at the moment. They could do something about the Separatist fleet approaching Bothawui and all their vulnerable people down on the surface. “Tell me what you know about this fleet.”

Ben nodded, gesturing down to the glowing holograms. He started, “As I was telling Admiral Yularen….”

#

The city sprawled huge all around them, expanding in every possible direction. Even the air above felt crowded, a mass of vehicles almost blocking out the brightness of the sun. Once was not used to so much sunshine and squinted against it. He’d come from an area far more prone to rains and massive storms. It was jarring not to hear the crash of waves, to find it replaced with the noise of traffic. 

They arrived at a humongous building before he could regain any kind of equilibrium. He stared up at the mass of it. He’d seen pictures of it before, of course. Part of his education had involved staring at blueprints and memorizing the layout of all the myriad rooms and passages inside. It wouldn’t do to throw him out into the field as a burden on his General.

Seeing it in person was another thing. He gazed upward as they ascended the stairs, surprised enough that he barely registered the humming excitement from General Jinn at his side. They passed others on the steps, so Once focused on keeping his mouth shut and avoiding being an embarrassment. 

The gigantic complex felt old and… soothing. Peace seemed to radiate from the walls, slowing some of the restless racing of his pulse, while also bringing everything into sharper focus. He imagined he could pick up thoughts, if he only applied himself to the task, which was madness. He wasn’t actually a Jedi, after all. He had only enough of their gifts to make him better at fighting. 

Jinn pointed locations out as they walked, and Once nodded along, slotting the real-world layout of the building into place alongside his memories at the blueprints. The images had done a poor job of conveying the sheer size of the complex, or the beauty of it, which was striking and which stretched everywhere, a far cry from the utilitarian halls of the  _ Fallen Star _ up in orbit and the facility where Once had been trained. 

He absorbed it all, the beauty, the curious looks he got, the sense of peace built into the place, all while the rumble of General Jinn’s voice washed over him. He startled when they finally drew to a stop in front of a set of gigantic doors. The Council Chamber, his memory helpfully provided, as Jinn said, “The Council wanted to speak with you immediately. They have… some questions.”

Once glanced up at him. “Surely the Senate will be able to provide better answers than I will.” 

Jinn shrugged. “Apparently not. Are you prepared?” 

A significant portion of Once’s training had been dedicated to preparing for anything. He nodded, and received an encouraging smile for his trouble. Jinn pushed the doors open and strode inside, leaving Once to follow him into the gigantic round chamber beyond.

Windows stood in a massive curve at the back of the room, allowing the late afternoon light to flood in. A half-circle of chairs sat on a raised section of the room, many of them full. The Council. It’s members turned to look as Jinn and Once entered, a few rising to their feet, their shock radiating off of them. Once folded his hands and focused on allowing that to wash over him, without spiking his pulse. 

“Well,” Jinn said, stopping before them, Once pulled along in his wake. “We are here as you requested.”

The murmurs died away. “Why you are here, do you know?” one of the Council members asked; Yoda, Once recognized him from dozens of briefings and lectures. 

Once inclined his head. “You have questions for me. I will do my best to answer them.” He felt the ripples of surprise that raced around the room as he spoke. There was upset and grief there, too, and a sense of disgust, and, below all that… a kind of relief. He had  _ not  _ been trained to handle or expect any of that, but allowing it to visibly disturb him would no doubt be a mistake. He bundled it up, tightly, and shoved all the emotions down.

“Where did you come from?” another of the Council members asked, leaning forward in his chair. Windo. Straight-forward, according to Once’s lessons, but with a temper. Often in conflict with General Jinn. 

Once blinked the academic knowledge away. “From Kamino. I was raised in a training facility on the southern edge of the primary continent.”

“And who ordered your training?”

Once resisted the urge to twist his hands together. “I was told  _ you  _ did,” he said, fighting to keep his tone even as they exchanged alarmed glances and murmurs. He swallowed. “Did you not?”

“No,” Yoda said, leaning back in his chair and tapping his fingers on the cane he held. “Unless a confession, someone has to make?” He looked across the other gathered members of the Council, his gaze sticking when it came to General Jinn. They all felt confused, to Once. And alarmed. None felt particularly guilty. Yoda looked back at Once. “Told why we ordered your training, were you?”

Once shook his head. “I was not. I was told no one was entirely sure, but when the Senate was informed we were finished training it was decided that we would be of immediate use for the war effort. Many of us were assigned to Generals and sent out. Others were sent directly to the fronts, to begin operations immediately.” 

“They’ve already had an impact on Falleen,” Windu said, a frown set deeply on his mouth. “We gained ground there for the first time since we entered into the battle.” He did not sound  _ thrilled  _ about it.

Once decided a smile would not be appreciated and merely nodded. “I’m pleased to hear that we were effective.”

Windu snorted. “Well, the enemy certainly wasn’t expecting a dozen Jedi warriors to swarm into the field of battle.”

“But they’re not  _ really  _ Jedi,” another Council member put in, leaning forward in her seat. “Are you? You’re just another clone.”

Once inclined his head in her direction. “That is—”

“Don’t be foolish. You can all sense him,” General Jinn interrupted. “I know that you can feel his connection to the Force. He shines in it.”

The council member grimaced and sat back. “Master Jinn-”

“You all recognize him. He is as much a—”

“They received no training,” Windu said, cutting across the budding argument. “Not our training. He may be… adept. But he is not one of us. Would you agree, O—” He cut off with a deep, pained grimace. “What is your designation, soldier?”

“JC-N20.” He worked to control his breathing. “And you are correct. We received training in the use of our abilities, but we were always informed that it was not your training.” He shrugged.

“But he can be trained,” Jinn said, taking a step forward.

The council members avoided looking directly at him, for the most part. Only Windu and Yoda managed to meet his gaze, that Once noticed. Windu said, finally, “His emotions—”

“Are perfectly controlled.”

“Are you going to train all of them, then?” Windu demanded. “Or just this one, because he—”

“Enough” Yoda interrupted, tapping the base of his cane on the ground with force. “An argument for another time, this is. JC-N20, dismissed you may be, if other information to share with us, you have not. Discuss your placement in the field, we shall. Inform you of the findings of this Council, Master Jinn will.”

Once inclined his head, relieved to be dismissed from their presence and shoving that emotion down. He kept his steps even and clipped as he turned and left the chamber, exhaling the anxiety out, trying to pull calm back in. He felt as though he’d just gone through a live-arms combat drill and shook the feeling off as the doors closed at his back, leaving him alone in the massive hall.

He… had no idea where to go. Standing and waiting for Jinn would have probably made the most sense, but from the tension he felt from the room he could be standing there a  _ long  _ time. That did not seem like a productive use of time.

And there were so many things he’d been curious to see when he looked over the schematics for this complex. Decided, he nodded and moved off, deeper into the complex, towards the areas that he’d spent so much time envisioning in his training, ignoring any of the strange looks he garnered in his wanderings.

#

Ben got the feeling that his new General did not care for him very much, watching Skywalker climb into his fighter, preparing for a battle that they had little chance of winning, clones stationed on the surrounding asteroids bedamned. He hadn’t anticipated being disliked right off the bat. After all, they’d been told that the Republic Generals were quickly becoming overwhelmed by the hardships of the war and that they were in desperate need of aid.

Ben did not doubt that was true. Skywalker had been prepared to fling his forces into a hopeless battle when he arrived, after all. But his assistance had not exactly been welcomed with open arms. In fact, he sensed… no little irritation from the General. It was terribly uncomfortable to realize that Skywalker did not want him around.

He’d never spent much time around non-clones. There had been a few in the facilities in Kamino, there to augment their training, and they’d been professionally cool. He’d gotten on well with his brothers and he got on well with the Type 1s he’d met in the facility and so far on the ship. And Skywalker did not seem to have a problem with the Type 1s.

Which meant the issue had to be with Ben, specifically, not with clones in general. Skywalker seemed to recognize him. He’d called him by another name. So perhaps he’d known the Jedi who had served at the genetic template for Ben and his brothers. He knew little about his progenitor, save that he’d died in battle and had been considered a prime candidate for the physical attributes and psychological profile they wanted to use for the clones.

Perhaps Skywalker and his progenitor had not gotten along. Or maybe they’d been friends. Either option could explain the coolness on Skywalker’s part, and there was little Ben could do to fix either situation.

He did not have the time to worry about it during the battle. Skywalker nearly got himself – and Admiral Yularen – killed while facing Grievous’ fleet, but he  _ did  _ manage to turn the tide of the battle into a victory, though apparently he lost his astrometric droid and considered this a problem. It was… impressive. If Ben’s progenitor had been friends with Skywalker, he could understand why.

He understood even better when Skywalker returned to the ship, climbing out of his fighter with a scowl and shoving his hair back away from his face. He was a handsome man, from his eyes to the cut of his jaw; even the scar on his brow was interesting.

Ben had not seen very many people in his life. Most of the faces he’d looked at had been exactly the same as his own. Attraction was a brand new concept, one he had not expected to experience quite so quickly, but his stomach went warm and tight when Skywalker met his eyes and – after a moment where he went wide-eyed and startled – nodded.

Life outside of the facility was obviously going to be far more complicated than Ben had anticipated. That complication looked like it was going to start immediately, as Skywalker moved towards him, determination in each movement. Ben forgot not to stare, nodding when Skywalker said, “I think we need to talk.”

They made their way through the halls of the  _ Resolute _ , ending up in Skywalker’s quarters. They were a plain affair. Small. They reminded Ben of his bunk back in the Facility, though there weren’t enough beds, obviously. “Something to drink?” Skywalker asked, after a moment, offering out a glass.

Ben accepted with a smile. The drink burned on his tongue and in his throat. Alcoholic, he realized, resisting the urge to cough. He’d never tasted alcohol before. It hit his stomach like a punch. Skywalker took a swallow, sighed, pulled out a chair, and sprawled down into it. He frowned up at Ben, who looked back at him, taking another drink to give himself something to do.

“Well, what are we supposed to do with you?” Skywalker asked after a moment, tapping his fingers on the side of his glass.

Ben smiled. “I’m here to help in any way that I can,” he said.

Skywalker frowned. “Who sent you? Really?”

Ben shrugged. The alcohol wasn’t that bad, he decided. “We were sent by a special order of the Senate, authorized by the Chancellor himself.”

_ That  _ seemed to settle some of the tension out of Skywalker’s muscles. He sighed, setting aside his glass. “And your orders were just to help?”

Ben nodded. “To offer aid to the Jedi Generals in the field, correct. It was decided that there were… a limited number of you. There were concerns that you were all being risked in dangerous operations.”

Skywalker’s expression twisted then, with something like horror. “So they made you to go, what, die in our place?”

Ben took another drink. It was really very good. “We were made to assist in the Republic war effort. We’re highly trained and Force sensitive, which should make us more effective than the Type 1s against any Separatists who dabble in the Dark Side. We can handle work on the ground, while the Generals direct battles from a safe remove.”

Skywalker stood with a scoff. “Kriff that,” he snapped, anger radiating out of him in a surprising wave. Anger was… another new emotion to experience. At least in such quantities. Ben swayed from the intensity of it. “I don’t send  _ any  _ of my men into something I’m not willing to wade into myself.”

Ben cocked his head to the side, watching Skywalker scowl at nothing in particular. He did not look the way Ben had imagined a Jedi would. He did not  _ feel  _ the way Ben had expected a Jedi would. That probably shouldn’t have been as interesting as Ben found it. He said, “Well, we should be much more successful in the field if we’re both down there.”

Skywalker frowned over at him, looking him up and down in a way that made Ben’s skin heat up. “I don’t know,” Skywalker said. “I need to go get back my droid. Can you even fight, if I bring you along?”

Ben grinned at him, “Why don’t you let me show you?”

#

Qui-Gon exited the Council chambers in a barely controlled temper. They used to tell him that, eventually, he would come to see their point of view about all their disagreements. They used to tell him that with experience and a more mature understanding of the world, he would see things their way. That had never happened, but he had learned how to argue against their decisions more effectively. 

The Council had agreed, eventually, that the new soldiers would be, if nothing else, incredibly useful in the course of the war. They had agreed that there was no reason he should  _ not  _ offer training to Obi-Wan, and that the other Generals could provide the same training to their attaches.

They had decided to continue digging into the exact origin of the attaches, but Qui-Gon held out little hope for success in that matter. They’d been trying to determine the true origin of the other Clone troopers for a year, and had gotten nowhere.

He set his frustration with the discussions aside, unsurprised to find Obi-Wan missing from the hallway. He got a sense of Obi-Wan deeper into the complex and followed the tugging at his thoughts, something in his chest easing immediately at just the feeling of their renewed connection.

He followed the tug through the halls, past other Jedi going about their business, and out into a garden. The shock of where he had turned up sent a wave of pain and joy in equal measure through Qui-Gon. Of course. Of course, he should have  _ known  _ this was where Obi-Wan would find his way. He’d always loved the Room of a Thousand Fountains.

Obi-Wan sat in a grassy meadow, far from the entrance to the gardens. Qui-Gon did not need to work to find him. Memory carried his feet down the right paths, to the quiet burble of a fountain. He found Obi-Wan sitting with his face upturned to the sky, sunlight dappled across his skin, his hair stirring in the faint breeze that managed to permeate even here, so deep into the complex. 

For a long moment, Qui-Gon could only stare. He’d thought he would only see the image before him again in his memory. But there Obi-Wan sat, breathing with his eyes closed under the living sky. He wore a strange uniform, of course, and his hair was wrong, or, not wrong, simply how it would have looked after he had been Knighted….

Across the clearing, Obi-Wan’s eyes snapped open and he looked over at Qui-Gon. “General,” he said, rolling to his feet. “Are you alright?” 

Qui-Gon waved off the concern. “I’m just being a foolish old man,” he said, trying to clear away the aching in his chest. He no longer needed to carry around all that pain. The universe had given him Obi-Wan back, given him a second chance. He could not waste it by wallowing in morose despair. “I’m sorry to disturb you.”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “Did the Council reach a decision about us, then?”

“Mm.” Qui-Gon nodded and gestured towards the door. “They did. I’ll tell you over dinner. You must be starving.”

For a moment, discomfort flashed across Obi-Wan’s expression, quickly tucked away. “Of course,” he said. “We should return and eat with the men.”

Qui-Gon waved a hand. “No, I have a better idea.” He had not gone to any of Obi-Wan’s favorite places after his death. The pain had felt ever too-new. But  _ now _ … he could give all those places  _ back _ . And this time, Obi-Wan would be able to enjoy them to the fullest extent, for the rest of his life.

#

Anakin had not known what to expect from Ben’s combat skills and he was still humming with adrenaline from the space battle, so agreeing to a trip down to the sparring rooms had only seemed sensible. Ben selected a practice saber like he knew what he was doing, shedding his outer tunic and falling into stretches.

Anakin kept an eye on him while warming up, his mind buzzing with thoughts he couldn’t quite bring to order. Distraction over R2 ate at him, but he couldn’t address that loss  _ yet _ . He had no direction to take to fix it. So he might as well assess this new operative thrown into his lap. He spun his practice saber into position when Ben nodded at him, finished with his warm-up katas.

Anakin took the first swing. He always had, despite all of the hours Qui-Gon spent preaching patience to him. Sometimes, a man simply had to accept who he was. He charged in, surprised when Ben turned aside the blow, fast the way only a Jedi who felt a blow coming in the Force could be. They exchanged a flurry of blows and spun apart, Ben grinning as his hair fell forward into his face.

“You’re good,” Ben said, spinning his saber to resettle it into a guard Anakin did not recognize.

The words bit at him. He’d heard so many times, growing up, that Obi-Wan had been skilled with a lightsaber. Had he not held his own against the first Sith anyone had seen in thousands of years? Had he not killed the Sith, even if it cost him his life in the process? Anakin had always strove to receive the same praise, only to be told he was too aggressive, too unfocused, too  _ everything _ . Well, he’d only lost a hand when he came up against a Sith Lord, instead of his life. But, a treacherous voice in his head whispered, Qui-Gon had been right there with him. And they’d been saved by Yoda.

Obi-Wan had fought alone, desperately, for all their lives.

He pushed the thoughts aside, springing back towards Ben, who met him blow for blow, fast and strong and clever. Ben twisted by him, out of the clench of blows, his cheeks flushed with color and his robes darkening with sweat. Anakin stalked after him, looking into his eyes the next time they locked blades, and  _ jolting  _ at the clear blue of them.

Anakin shoved that reaction down, feeding more energy into his attacks. They spun around one another, moving in close and springing away, exchanging touches. Sweat poured down the sides of Anakin’s face. He could not recall ever pushing so hard in a practice bout. And in the end, it was worth it.

Ben was skilled and fast, but he lacked a certain kind of experience. He’d never fought on a battlefield, not a real one, and he didn’t seem to understand about fighting dirty. It gave Anakin the chance to trip him, tumbling him down onto the mats, falling after him to kneel over his chest, the edge of his saber held above Ben’s throat.

Ben blinked up at him, breathing hard, flushed. “You’re  _ very  _ good,” he said, with a wide smile, as though Anakin were not scowling down at him. It stole the strange anger right out of Anakin’s chest, leaving him very aware of their position. He scrambled to his feet, tugging at his robes, and Ben added, “We should train together more often. Can you show me that take-down?”

Anakin swallowed. He’d beaten Ben, who was not quite the ghost of Obi-Wan, or, at least, not as Anakin remembered him. He felt… fraught inside his own thoughts. He needed to speak with Qui-Gon. He needed some space, a chance to reckon with the hunger rising inside him. He needed to find R2. He turned aside and said, “Another time.”

#

Once ended up eating a strange meal with General Jinn on Coruscant. The General watched him eat, stealing looks that made it difficult to focus on the food, and such food it was. They’d eaten mostly the same thing for every meal on Kamino. 

The food on Coruscant was… delicious. Each bite was a new revelation, even with the General’s strange attention. Once did his best to put it out of his mind, aided in the effort when they were interrupted by a man the General called Senator Organa. The General stepped outside to speak with Organa while Once finished his meal, watching them and feeling their increasing agitation through the force. 

Organa joined them, when they left the planet, expression tense. Once kept quiet on the trip to the  _ Fallen Star _ , where he was dismissed to his quarters. General Qui-Gon had waved away his bunk assignment and had him re-assigned to the quarters that would have been given to his apprentice, if he currently had one. The General’s rooms were just down the hall.

Once looked around the room. It was far larger than any space that he’d previously been able to call ‘his.’ And quiet. He wasn’t used to the quiet. He’d bunked with three of his brothers back on Kamino. He’d expected to bunk down with the Type 1s when he arrived on the ship. He’d met a few of them before, at the facility. They’d taken care of a portion of his combat training.

The silence ate away at him, but he didn’t know how to address it. He had not expected to… to run into someone who knew his progenitor, at least not so quickly. It seemed perversely cruel that he would be sent to serve under his progenitor’s old Master, without any warning given to either of them. He could  _ feel  _ the General’s attentions, even with the man out of the room and ostensibly distracted by whatever Organa wanted. The Jedi radiated a kind of hunger at him, a jumble of old pains and needs that pulled at his thoughts with grasping fingers.

The need in the contact was relentless and, anyway, Once did not know how to resist it. He had never met any other Jedi, beside his brothers, and they’d all been reminded, frequently, that they did not really count. They were strong in the Force, but they were not Jedi. They had not been raised in the Order, they had never been taken as Padawans, or earned the ranking of Knight. They were just… specially gifted soldiers.

He gave up in the face of the pressure of General Jinn’s attention, swaying and flailing a hand out for the wall when  _ something  _ rushed into his thoughts, pleased and relieved and—and a hundred other things all at once. He missed the wall and fell to his knees, wheezing for a breath, trying to swim through the onslaught of a sudden connection to another mind. A bond, he thought. He’d heard about them. Sometimes Jedi shared them.

It… appeared he shared one with General Jinn. The intensity of it faded, after a moment, allowing him to think once more. He probed the sensitive spot in his mind and got a wash of ebullient joy back for his trouble. He swallowed the bile in the back of his throat and swayed to his feet. He, obviously, needed to find out more about this Obi-Wan, and quickly. This assignment was getting more complicated by the moment, and they hadn’t even started fighting the Separatists yet.

#

Qui-Gon laughed aloud when Obi-Wan accepted the connection of their old training bond, startling Senator Organa in the middle of his current plea for assistance. He had not allowed himself to feel the empty ache of the bond, broken prematurely, for so long that the relief of healing it came as a surprise. It was as though an old pain - one that had lasted so long he’d learned to ignore it - washed away, immediately lifting a weight from his shoulders.

He sent a pulse of joy across the bond, getting back puzzlement from Obi-Wan; but that was understandable, he had much to be puzzled about. 

Qui-Gon would explain everything over the coming days - he agreed to help Organa sort out his puzzling mystery, so they’d have some travel time ahead of them, after all - but first, he really needed to get back to Anakin. His most recent Padawan’s message was related, apparently, to the new clones who had arrived. Qui-Gon showed Organa to a room; they could rest on the  _ Fallen Star _ for a night cycle and move off in a… less obvious craft in the morning. The Senator clearly wanted to leave immediately, his emotions were poorly held back, but he agreed at the last, leaving Qui-Gon to return to his rooms and the long delayed transmission to Anakin.

Qui-Gon smiled reflexively, establishing a communication to Anakin’s ship, currently half-way across the galaxy. Anakin accepted the transmission after only a moment, frowning at him across the holo-feed. “Master. Did you get my message?”

“I did,” Qui-Gon said, working to control the joy in his chest. “Though not until after I met the newest member of my crew.”

Anakin grimaced. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I wanted to warn you before you… met him.”

Qui-Gon waved a hand, joy bubbling up through him even still. “It’s alright, Anakin.”

Anakin’s holo form stared at him. The connection was not perfect across the great distance between them, but Qui-Gon could see his frown deepen. Anakin said, “I… are you alright?”

Qui-Gon flicked him a glance. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t be?”

For a moment, Anakin only stared. “Well, the Kaminoans did, uh, clone your old apprentice. I… assume without his permission.” Qui-Gon grimaced, nodding. The thought had occurred to him, it had just shifted aside, pushed away by other, more important considerations. “The clone on my ship – Ben – he doesn’t even know who ordered the operation. Or who sent them all out to our ships. He said they were given orders by the Senate, but it seems strange that we weren’t told  _ anything  _ about them until now.”

“All valid concerns,” Qui-Gon said, rubbing a hand over his face and trying to set his own, personal joy to the side for the moment. “Concerns I brought up to the Council today, as a matter of fact.” He frowned at the memory of that argument. 

Anakin blinked. “You spoke with them already? I thought you would wait for me to join you.” And Anakin must have felt very strongly about this, if he were offering to help with the Council. Their interactions tended to be even more fraught than Qui-Gon’s. Anakin frowned once more. “And are you sure you’re alright. I thought you’d be....”

Qui-Gon glanced at his holo, distracted still by the thrumming presence of Obi-Wan, so close to him once again. “Hm?”

Anakin shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “Just, what did the Council say?”

Qui-Gon shrugged. “They’re as puzzled as we are. And furious that a Jedi was cloned. But it’s not like we can go back and change what’s happened.” And he did not  _ want to _ . He could not imagine shoving Obi-Wan away. Losing him again was unthinkable. “So, we’re to accept their assistance. Offer them training, if we wish.”

Anakin stared at him. “That’s - and you’re alright with that?”

Qui-Gon smiled. He felt alright for the first time in so long. “Of course,” he said, and shifted the conversation to the battle Anakin had fought earlier in the day, his concern about his missing droid, and his work with his new apprentice. He said nothing about the mission he would be going on with Organa. Secrecy was necessary, and it would only worry Anakin, in any case.

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan would certainly be able to handle it.

#

Once found plenty of information about Obi-Wan Kenobi. A single glance at the dead man’s picture proved their connection. Kenobi looked as much like Once as any of his brothers, or, well, at least the ones without any major flaws in the cloning process.

He had died long years ago, cut down by a Sith lord on a planet named Naboo, helping to break a blockade on the planet. He had been apprenticed to General Jinn, who had immediately taken another apprentice upon his death, a Jedi now given a command of his own battalion.

He did not seem… especially impressive to Once. He’d been a soldier who died, and there were always plenty of those. Surely it would have been a better idea to clone a soldier who  _ lived _ . Why make thousands of copies of a failure?

He could find no answers to that question, no matter how far he dug into the records surrounding this Obi-Wan.

They did nothing to explain General Jinn’s fascination with him, either. The General had trained many apprentices, even taking one immediately after Obi-Wan’s death, so he could not have been  _ too  _ upset about it. But he seemed ready now to cleave to Once. The new connection to his mind pushed at Once even in the dark of his quarters, constantly checking, as though General Jinn expected him to disappear.

Eventually, he set the information to the side, pacing in the small space of his quarters. He wanted to go run, or run through katas until he achieved peace, but he could not make himself leave the room. He felt sure that the General would be waiting, expecting him to be transformed into someone he did not know how to be.

So he stayed in his quarters, hiding, and feeling terrible about hiding. He scowled, dragging a hand back through his hair, and flinched at the knock at his door. But it did not feel like General Jinn. It felt… like one of the Type 1s. He stepped over, opening the door with what he hoped was a controlled, calm expression.

The Commander of the battalion waited there, one scarred eyebrow raised, holding a plate of steaming food. “Missed you at the mess this morning,” he said. “Thought maybe you were busy getting caught up and didn’t want you to forget to eat.”

Once felt himself flush up to his hairline. He shouldn’t make others go out of their way for him. “Thank you,” he said, hesitating as he reached out to take the tray, aware that the Commander could see the pads spread around his quarters, which made it look as though he  _ had  _ been working to get caught up. “You… didn’t have to do this, Commander.”

The Commander waved a hand. “It’s no problem,” he said. “I remember what it was like, trying to adjust to life off of Kamino.”

Once managed a smile. His fingers brushed the Commander’s when he finally took the tray, stepping back into his room with an incline of his head. The Commander followed him in, the door shutting behind him. “It is different out here, isn’t it?”

The Commander hummed, glancing over the pads scattered about everywhere. Once busied himself with eating, watching the Commander frown. “This is your progenitor?” he asked, after a moment, lifting one of the data pads.

“Mm, it appears so. He was the General’s old apprentice.” 

The Commander made a little sound, wincing, and looked over at him. He said, voice carefully blank, though something twisted in his emotions, “He calls you this man’s name.”

Once shifted, trying to ease the unpleasant tension in his shoulders. “He does.” He could feel the General, even then, just a hint of his presence, full of wonder and fierce need. 

“That’s…” The Commander grimaced and then wiped the expression off of his face. “Sometimes the Generals, they do things, and…”

“It’s alright,” Once said, though it did not feel right. He didn’t want a dead man’s name. He wasn’t his progenitor. But he’d been sent to aid General Jinn in any way possible. It was the purpose of his existence. He sighed, looking at all the data pads around the room. “It’s just a name. Most people don’t get to choose theirs.”

For a moment, the Commander only stared at him. He set down the pad and said, “But your brothers gave you a name already.”

Once shook his head. That time in his life was past. Kamino was past. He was out in the galaxy now, and he had a General who needed his assistance. He said, “It doesn’t really matter. I better get used to answering to Obi-Wan.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates Fridays! Thank you all for the very kind comments on chapter one!

Anakin heard next from Qui-Gon days later, when he was trying to put the finishing touches on his plans to rescue R2. In fact, Anakin thought the comm was going to be another lecture about his foolish behavior in storing such sensitive information in R2. It was a relief, at first, when that turned out not to be the case. Anakin had never much liked Qui-Gon’s lectures.

This message was only intended to let him know that Qui-Gon would be going on a mission and that he would be out of communication for some time. They’d all been on their share of secret missions, and Anakin was only nodding along - thinking about R2 and working beside Ben in the field, showing that he was just as well trained as Obi-Wan had ever been - until Qui-Gon said, “And of course, Obi-Wan will be coming with me.”

Anakin blinked. “What?”

“He needs the experience in the field, and it’ll be a good way for us to catch up,” Qui-Gon continued on and the thing was - the thing was, his master had looked sad, for as long as Anakin had known him. Oh, he’d been content, sometimes, and never obviously distraught, but it had hung around him in the Force.

And Qui-Gon did not look sad, then. There was a hint of a smile around the corners of his mouth. Some of the tension around his eyes had disappeared. His movements were looser. And why? All because someone had sent him a clone of his dead Padawan? 

Jedi died, all the time, saving other people. Even before the war. It was - it felt, sometimes, like the fate set out for all of them. It wasn’t really a matter of  _ if _ , just  _ when  _ they’d be called on to make their great sacrifice. They weren’t supposed to carry on grieving for a decade. They were supposed to move forward. That’s what the tenants Qui-Gon had taught him said.

They were supposed to let go.

Especially if they had a new apprentice to care for.

“I don’t have much time left,” Qui-Gon said, reaching out to straighten something Anakin couldn’t see. “I just wanted to let you know, so you didn’t worry. May the Force guide your efforts to retrieve your droid.”

Anakin managed to strangle out a goodbye, so that he didn’t look like too much of a fool, though the words stuck in his throat. His thoughts buzzed, hot and angry, with no outlet. He slammed his fist against the monitor when Qui-Gon disappeared, off with his new clone, and did his best to push aside the tension climbing down his spine.

#

Once liked Senator Organa, and not just because Organa had no idea who Obi-Wan Kenobi had been, though that definitely played a part. Organa didn’t feel a pang of deep sadness, or joy, or relief, or anything when he looked at Once. He just… looked, curious but mostly preoccupied with this threat to the Republic that was pulling them all out into the abyss.

It made his presence a relief on the trip in the small transport, as they headed out to investigate a supposed Sith temple that he had learned of…. Somehow. No one had shared the specifics with Once. 

General Jinn had left the troopers back on the  _ Fallen Star _ , just the three of them heading off into the unknown, with only sporadic transmissions from Organa’s contacts to guide them. 

Organa had not particularly wanted Once to accompany them, but General Jinn had insisted, and so along he had come, for days of travel where there was little to do but meditate, get used to the bond with the General, and look over the lightsaber the General had given him.

The blade had been in a small box, ornately carved. The General had stared at him while he opened it, his feelings a tangled knot, dropped into Once’s mind. He’d glanced up, and said, carefully, “It’s very nice.”

“It’s yours,” the General said, and knowing he meant  _ it’s your progenitor’s _ did not make it easier for Once to know what to say.

“I--” Once gestured down to his belt. “I have two already, General.” 

The General’s expression shifted, just for a second, before easing back. He shook his head, smiling. “Just try it,” he said, and Once saw no way forward but reaching in and taking it. The hilt fitted his hand perfectly, but, then, it would, wouldn’t it? It would fit the hands of all of his brothers. But he was the only one expected to hold it.

The General said, “Good,” something thick and strange in his voice, and closed the box, leaving Once with no choice but to hold onto the lightsaber. He ended up clipping it to his belt, replacing one of his - carefully made before he left Kamino - and shunting aside the feelings that rose up in him as he did. It wouldn’t do to have the General pick up on any of that. 

Still, there were no major calamities. Once had just begun thinking that perhaps the trip was not so bad when the nightmares started.

When the first one hit, he did not realize he was dreaming. It had been vivid and strange, watching himself from someone else’s eyes, behind a screen of red. He’d been wearing odd clothes, Jedi robes, with his hair cut very short. He’d been fighting some dark figure, covered in red and black tattoos.

In the dream, the person he was had been horrified, terrified. In the dream, he’d watched himself close with the attacker, and it had skipped and jumped, until he was looking down at himself, empty-eyed, dead, while the him in the dream broke apart.

Once had woke up with a cry caught in his throat, sweat soaking through his robes, shaking. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen someone with his face die. Accidents had happened, during their training. But he’d never seen anyone die  _ like that _ . He’d pushed out of his bunk, jittery with the after images of the dream, and it had been then that General Jinn opened his door and said, “Obi-Wan!”

Agony bled off the General, battering at Once’s mind. He’d seen no option but to reach back, offering reassurance that all was fine, feeling the General settle by degrees. That had been the first nightmare. They’d grown worse, strengthening towards something that felt like madness, before the General found a way to… mitigate their pressure.

As long as one of them remained awake, they could stand as sentinel, guarding the mind of their sleeping partner against nightmare incursions. It took concentration to maintain the shielding, which was how Once found himself sitting cross-legged in the ship’s small common area, eyes half-lidded, his focus on General Jinn as he slept.

He felt Organa’s approach, shifting his gaze sideways when the Senator sat across from him, watching him. “I’ve never spent much time around the Troopers,” Organa said, quietly. He looked tired, though, as far as Once knew, he’d suffered no nightmares. They’d only impacted those sensitive to the Force. Organa rubbed a hand over his face, “Or the Jedi, for that matter. I had some questions.”

Once kept his thoughts stretched out through the ship, moistening his tongue enough to speak. “I’m not a Jedi.”

Organa arched a brow. “You most certainly look like one.”

“Appearances can be deceiving, Senator.” Conversing while maintaining the shield was a strain, but he could not refuse. He was bound to serve the will of the Senate, currently represented by Organa.

Organa made a soft, humming sound. “You really don’t know who ordered your… creation?”

Everyone felt compelled to ask that question, over and over, as though Once’s answer would change if they merely prompted him often enough. 

“I--” Once cut off when an alarm blared through the ship, a proximity alert, informing them that they were approaching a space station, the one Organa’s contacts had ordered them to visit. Once stirred, rising to his feet as he felt General Jinn awake. His thoughts were already stretched out; it was a simple thing to turn them towards the station.

He jerked, physically, at the pain that lashed out at him, pain and fear and fury, grounding like lightning down through his mind. “Obi-Wan?” General Jinn asked, placing a hand on his shoulder, his presence in the Force large enough to block out some measure of the blowback from the station.

“Something’s wrong,” Once said, drawing back his thoughts; he’d been foolish to reach out with his mind already stretched to shield and protect. He felt disoriented, as though he’d taken a strong blow to the back of the head. “Over on the station. People are hurt.”

General Jinn’s grip tightened on his shoulder. He said, tone puzzled, “I don’t sense anything. But we’ll proceed with caution.”   
  


#

Ben learned a lot about the 501st and General Skywalker over the coming days, as they mobilized to find his lost astrometric droid. He learned, for example, that Skywalker was the kind of General who left sensitive material regarding the war effort  _ on  _ an astrometric droid, necessitating the rescue effort in the first place.

The entire effort felt like a waste of resources and time, but they couldn’t very well leave the droid in the hands of the enemy. Besides, Skywalker seemed personally attached to the droid. Ben got the sinking feeling that they’d have thrown themselves after it, even if it didn’t contain anything of value.

“He really loves R2,” Ahsoka told Ben, after a final briefing regarding their plan to infiltrate a Separatist base to retrieve the droid. She looked apologetic. She often did, Ben had noticed, when discussing her Master. “They’ve, you know, been together a long time.”

“Of course,” Ben said, flashing her a smile and sensing her anxiety. He’d learned, over the past days, that she often radiated nerves. He’d also learned that he could draw the emotion away, like poison from a wound, with a little concentration. It left him aware of her, the way he’d been aware of his brothers, growing up, the same way he still felt them, distant though they were from him.

Her shoulders relaxed after a moment and she sighed. “Thanks,” she said, quietly, casting him a sideways look and a brief smile before marching out of the room, given her instructions and going to carry them out.

Ben lingered, watching Skywalker scowl at the rotating map of the station for another moment. “You were dismissed,” Skywalker said. He glanced towards Ben and then away. He never - Ben had learned - held eye contact very long. Not with Ben, anyway.

“I wanted to ask why you changed my role in the mission.” Ben  _ had  _ been assigned to accompany Ahsoka, originally. Then Skywalker had engaged in some communication with his old Master, and Ben had found himself removed, placed in reserve, with a scowl and no explanation. Ben left his position by the wall, approaching to lean against the holographic projection table.

Skywalker flashed him a frown, gaze there and gone, “That’s not your concern.”

Ben shrugged. “Seems a bit dangerous to Ahsoka, sending her without backup.”

Skywalker bristled. Ben felt it and saw it, watching him draw his spine straighter and tighten his shoulders. He didn’t understand what had happened, what had caused this reflexive anger to flow towards him. He’d been under the impression Jedi didn’t  _ get  _ angry, once upon a time. That belief hadn’t survived long around Skywalker. “Is that assessment based on your field experience?”

Ben narrowed his eyes. He’d had worse treatment back on Kamino. Their instructors had never been selected based on kindness. He said, “My job is to protect and assist you and your Padawan, General Skywalker. I thought you agreed--”

“Your job,” Anakin interrupted, frown deepening, “is to obey my orders. I  _ know  _ what Ahsoka is capable of. I know what she can handle. I trust her.”

_ And not me _ , Ben thought, the subtext so clear Skywalker might as well have spat the words out between them. It seemed difficult to believe that all of the scorn Skywalker directed his way was because he looked like a dead man, but he couldn’t think of another cause. He said, restraining a sigh, “Sir--”

“You have your orders, trooper,” Skywalker said, flat and hard, his gaze on the spinning projection once more.

Ben curled a hand into a fist, breathed out, turned, and exited the room, ignoring the fact that - once his back was turned - he  _ felt  _ Skywalker staring at him. He’d learned Skywalker did that, too, when he thought he wouldn’t be noticed. Ben was watched, so much of the time. He wished he knew what Skywalker was looking for, exactly.

#

The Council had delighted in telling Qui-Gon that he had coddled Anakin, throughout his apprenticeship. And perhaps he had shielded the boy at first, but Anakin had been both young to be taken as a Padawan and completely without experience as a Jedi. He’d had no idea how to use a lightsaber, no control over the Force for all that he had an overflow of natural power.

And Qui-Gon had taken too many risks with his apprentices before.

So perhaps he had not given Anakin the full experience of being a Jedi Padawan. The universe had seen fit to balance it out by starting a war before the boy had even been Knighted. Anakin had seen plenty of combat in the last year, most of it far away from Qui-Gon. 

It had been difficult to adjust to his absence. Qui-Gon had worked with a Padawan for over two decades, by the time Anakin left, without any break. To suddenly be alone, after so much time, had given him too much room to think, too much quiet to invade his thoughts. Even the war had not been an adequate distraction, much of the time, from the recollection of all of his failures.

It was a relief, then, to have a partner once more. Obi-Wan was no longer his Padawan, that would have been foolish. But Jedi worked together. Knights often worked with their old Masters, in fact. Obi-Wan fit beside him, slotting into place like the piece Qui-Gon had been missing for the last decade, plugging the deep wounds that had never stopped bleeding, for all that he’d ignored them.

Obi-Wan moved cautiously through the space station, and, oh, but Qui-Gon had almost forgotten what it was like to have  _ caution  _ at his side, instead of a Padawan with a fierce desire to charge the world head-first. It had not taken long to determine that Obi-Wan’s sense that something was wrong was correct. The dead bodies in the hangar had proved that well enough.

They’d ordered Organa to stay with the ship. He’d protested, but truly, he was a Senator. A brave one, true, but Qui-Gon would be remiss in all his duties to risk the man’s life by taking him into a space station that had obviously been under attack, and still was, if the tension stinging in the air meant anything.

They found the first surviving pirates attempting an amush, but it was difficult to sneak up on two Jedi. Qui-Gon nodded to Obi-Wan as they approached, distracted momentarily by the familiar glint of red in his hair, the way his eyes focused before a fight, the way he flexed his fingers before gripping his lightsaber. 

Qui-Gon shook his thoughts clear before they reached the pirates, the pair of them moving together, deflecting blaster bolts and leaving none in their wake. Obi-Wan spun his saber at the end, the way he had always done, though his fighting style was different. Qui-Gon had spent too long watching him during the fight, and Obi-Wan flicked a glance towards him, asking, “General?”

“Qui-Gon,” he said, with a smile. “They taught you to fight like that? On Kamino?” Something about the style was familiar to him, though he could not identify it.

“Yes.” Obi-Wan moved forwards as he spoke. They’d almost reached the heart of the station, and the person Qui-Gon could feel there, panicking and in pain. “Well, they taught us the basic form. My brothers and I built on what they showed us.”

“It’s a very effective style. Perhaps you could show me some of the forms when we get back.” He’d not seen Obi-Wan fight, before. Obviously, they should have sparred, but there had not been time before Organa had swept them off on this mission. 

Obi-Wan cut him a glance, waving a hand over the entry panel for the control room and sighing when it beeped unhappily back at them. “Certainly, General,” he said, igniting one of his lightsabers once more, and how good it was, deeply and truly relieving, to see it in use again. “Shall I make a door?”

#

The mission to retrieve R2 got messy. Missions tended to, especially when it turned out that Grievous was going to attempt to kill them all. The monstrosity focused on Ahsoka and the troopers which was a problem Anakin couldn’t deal with at the moment.

In fact, it was a problem he couldn’t deal with at all. By the time he made it out, R2 in tow and warbling at him in fury over how long the rescue had taken, Ahsoka and the troopers were already safely back on the  _ Resolute _ .

He landed with a sweet feeling of relief still in his chest; he’d rescued R2, Ahsoka had lived, Grievous had gotten away, but they’d managed to destroy Skytop Station. The relief lasted until he exited his fighter, catching Ahsoka and the troopers as they crossed the hangar floor. 

That new clone was with them. Ben. He was walking alongside the group, his hair plastered to one side of his head, his uniform charred here and there. He’d  _ obviously  _ seen combat, and Anakin had  _ ordered  _ him to stay put. He felt his jaw twitch, changing course to intercept them with a scowl.

Ahsoka felt him coming, first, turning to look at him. She smiled, for a beat, before the expression wilted. “Master,” she started, as the troopers turned to see what had caught her attention, and then he was among them, grabbing Ben and pushing him back a step. 

“What’s going on here?” Anakin demanded. There was dirt across Ben’s cheek. His eyes were narrowed a bit. He smelled of blaster bolts and grease. And he had so obviously disobeyed orders that Anakin shoved him back another step, against the nearest bulkhead. “I told you to--”

The lash of pain against his thoughts bit like a whip. It hit at the same time that Ben gave a hiss, flinching under Anakin’s hands, and Ahsoka grabbed his arm, her small fingers closing around his wrist. “Master!” She yanked on him. “What are you doing? He saved our lives.”

“What?” Anakin turned to look at her, still feeling a burn of pain inside his head, a fierce throb that left the back of his mouth tasting metallic. 

“We were overwhelmed,” she said, scowling at him, and he wondered when she’d stopped being wary of him. “We tried to reach you over the comms, but we couldn’t. I  _ told  _ him to come help. I… figured I had the authority to do that.” She tilted her chin up, all defiance in every line of her expression.

“But,” Anakin started, only it turned out she hadn’t finished. She shoved at him again.

“And he fought with Grievous. Let him  _ go _ , he’s hurt.”

Anakin had almost forgotten he still held Ben against the wall. Ben had made no protest, just letting out that little hiss of air at the initial impact. Anakin stepped back, unthinking, and Ben sagged, reaching out one hand to brace it against the wall. Ahsoka flashed him a look, sharp, and slid forward, pulling one of Ben’s arms over her shoulders.

He started, “That’s, I’m alright, you--”

“Be quiet, trooper,” Ahsoka advised, turning him, and it was only then that Anakin saw the smear of dark blood across the wall, little rivulets of it running down, pooling on the floor. The back of Ben’s robes were soaked through, but, Anakin noticed, he kept his weight off Ahsoka as she led him along, troopers falling into step behind them, all but Rex, who came to a stop by Anakin.

“Your part of the mission successful, sir?” Rex asked, nothing in his voice that shouldn’t have been there.

Anakin rubbed his hands down the front of his tunic, still feeling that shocking lash of pain. “It was.” He shook his head, focusing on Rex. Ahsoka and… the rest had disappeared around the corner, anyway. “He really helped?”

Rex stared at him, unblinking for a moment, and then said, “We all came back alive from a fight with Grievous, Sir.”

“Right.” Anakin grimaced, shaking his head. Despite what the Council said, he did realize when he’d been an ass. Some of the time. “I should probably go catch them.”

“Probably, sir.” Anakin rolled his eyes, but didn’t reply. If he had wanted a Captain who was afraid to speak his mind, he wouldn’t have picked Rex from all the available options. He shoved his hair back, glanced back to make sure R2 was being appropriately cleaned up, and went to go fix the mess he’d made with his new officer.

He found Ben in the care of one of the medics, but realized his timing could have been better too late to slip back out of the infirmary. Ben’s bright eyes found him, watching him and leaving him with no choice but to push forward. He’d be thrice damned before he retreated. He kept his stride even as he crossed the room, but didn’t quite manage to keep his gaze up.

Ben had freckles, he found, scattered all across his shoulders and down his arms. He was pale, which made the splatters of blood on his skin stand out more. He was wiping some away, absently, while a medic pressed a bacta patch to the damage done to his back. He said, straightening when Anakin came close enough, “Sir.”

Anakin smothered a grimace. “At ease.” Ben relaxed, just a little, but the sharpness in his eyes didn’t smooth away. The medic went on about his work, ignoring them utterly. “I didn’t know Ahsoka called you in,” he said, finding it difficult to know where to look. His gaze shifted, over to the far wall.

“The comms were spotty,” Ben said, a way out offered out between them. 

Anakin frowned, haunted by the memory of the way Ben’s shoulders had felt under his hands. He couldn’t shake it. He cleared his throat and said, “Thank you, for bringing her back safe.”

“It’s my job,” Ben said, shifting as the medic patted him twice on the shoulder, firmly. “I’m happy to help.” He slid off of the table, bringing himself closer to Anakin, who had to resist the urge to shift back away from him. “Permission to go get cleaned up, sir?”

“Of course,” Anakin managed, besieged, all at once, by images of Ben  _ getting cleaned up _ . He felt a flush in his cheeks and turned his face away. He was still there, frowning, his hands clenched up, when Ahsoka came to find him, dragging him off for the mission debrief.

#

Once had felt plenty of his brother die. He had less experience feeling someone  _ else  _ die, but the woman they found in the control center of the station was barely holding on by the time they made it through the door. 

General Jinn focused on getting information from her, his voice a deep rumble that flowed over Once. Her answers went ignored as Once reached carefully for her, smoothing back her hair, easing the jagged ripples of her pain, the way he’d learned to do for his brothers, long ago.

The lines of tension on her face eased. Her breathing grew easier as he worked, his chest aching as the flickering fire of her life guttered out. She disappeared between one breath and the next, a half-finished word on her lips, her eyes gazing upwards, unfocused.

And guilt settled within him, burrowing into his chest. If they had just been  _ faster _ , if he’d seen what to do sooner, she would have lived. But he had been slow, and she’d paid for it. At least back on Kamino, failures only meant  _ they  _ suffered, not some poor innocent.

“Obi-Wan,” General Jinn said, and it took Once a moment to remember that he was supposed to answer to that name, now. He blinked up, passing his hand across the woman’s face, closing her eyes. The General was staring at him, expression gone soft. “She felt no pain, at the end,” he said, like a comfort.

Once nodded. He knew not what to say. That she had felt no pain was a small victory in the face of a much larger loss. “Did you get the information you needed from her?” he asked, arranging the woman’s hands.

“I did,” General Jinn stood with a little grimace. He’d taken an injury, at some point. Once had missed it, another failure. He reached out, fitting a hand briefly to the General’s shoulder, concentrating on the wound. The General froze, for just a moment, and then smiled at him. “Come, let’s go inform the Senator of the news. It looks like we’re headed for Wild Space.”

#

Ben kept his movements normal all the way from the infirmary and throughout the rest of the day. He knew well enough the dangers of appearing defective. He could remember his brothers’ expressions, the way they’d felt in the Force, when they’d been dragged away, either for repairs or termination, if a defect couldn’t be appropriately handled.

He felt pain, but pain had been part of his life for as long as he could remember. It didn’t control him. He put it away, in the part of his mind where he left it thrash and have it’s way, and moved on, through a debriefing, through a sonic shower, through dinner, into the bunkroom to his cot. The Type 1s watched him, but not as cautiously as they had that morning.

A few greeted him, shoving their fellows, introducing him. He recognized the way they felt in the Force, all the subtle differences written upon their persons, and knew most of them to be the troopers who’d fought Grievous earlier. He smiled back, falling into easy conversation. Better to make friends than to not, better to find a way to fit in as quickly as possible, especially with General Skywalker’s mercurial nature.

The conversations ended, eventually, leaving him to his bunk as the Type 1s settled around him, calling to each other with a fondness born of long familiarity. He wondered whose bunk he had taken, as he adjusted the blankets. A dead man’s, no doubt, but they had not the time to be precious about such things. He sighed, hearing the door to the bunk room open, feeling the prickly heat that came with close proximity to Skywalker, and ignoring it. It seemed very unlikely that Skywalker was here to talk to him, especially after earlier.

He undid the vambraces around his arm and stowed them away, shrugging his robe off of his shoulders - he wore trooper blacks beneath it, and getting them off with his back feeling as it did promised to be an experience - and freezing at a sudden twist to Skywalker’s attentions. He breathed out, turning after a moment to find Skywalker staring at him, eyes gone wide. 

“General,” he said, reaching back for his tunic and then hesitating. Skywalker felt… strange. But not totally unfamiliar. There had been instructors, back on Kamino, who felt this way and sent these strange tendrils of heat out across the Force. Many of them had been harmless. Some had not. 

None of them had left him with a strange answering heat in his gut. 

“Lieutenant-Commander.” Skywalker couldn’t seem to decide where to look at him. “I came to see if you were recovering.”

“I’ll be fine.” Ben released his tunic. Apparently they weren’t meeting in an official capacity. He tilted his head to the side, curious about the way Skywalker watched him. “Thank you for your concern, sir.”

The “sir” snapped Skywalkers gaze up to his. The man had stormy eyes, color-change, the same way the sea had been on Kamino. Ben smiled at him, and watched those eyes change color again, getting darker. 

Skywalker shifted. He flexed his fingers. The metal hand that Ben had read about whirred a little with the movement, just noticeable. “Good, that’s--I thought, when you were recovered, we could spar again. The way we did when you first got here.”

Ben got the feeling Skywalker had some energy he needed to work off. He’d get no help with that today. Ben wasn’t entirely sure he could lift his right arm over his head. But he nodded. “I’d be honored, sir.”

“Right,” Skywalker said, staring for a moment more before jerking out a nod and turning on his heel. He looked back at the door, and Ben stretched his grin wider, feeling the warmth stretching out to him from Skywalker’s thoughts, full still of anger, and something else, as well. 

“Hey,” one of the Types 1s - Ruff - said, interrupting Ben’s thoughts before they could wander any further. “We’re gonna play some cards. We could use a fourth. You up for a few games?” And it was easy to smile, even with the ache in his back, and to follow him around the bunks, to a small table where he was welcomed and offered a drink, provided with cards. He settled into a chair, the tension of the day finally sliding off of his shoulders, and grinned, looking down at his hand.

#

Bail Organa had never been through a ship crash before, but he supposed there was a first time for everything. He hadn’t expected it to feel so much like the planet reached up, grabbed them, and slammed them into the unforgiving ground. In the aftermath, as his Jedi companions began moving, clearly more disoriented than he was, they realized that he’d broken one of his legs, quite badly.

It was strange, the way it didn’t hurt until the trooper lifted a fallen control console off of the limb. The trooper froze when Bail gave a weak cry, reaching for the wound and then freezing, because grabbing it seemed like a terrible idea. Obi-Wan blinked at him, eyes strange, with his pupils gone tiny. There was a little furrow between his brows and a grey sheen to his skin.

Both the Jedi had looked worse and worse, the closer they traveled to this planet. Things had come to a head unexpectedly in orbit, when the General had gone through some kind of seizure. That had led to the crash, Bail’s broken leg, and the glazed look in Obi-Wan’s eyes as he said, “That looks very bad.”

“It feels very bad,” Bail confirmed, panting for breath while Obi-Wan stared at him for another moment, blank faced.

“I’ll… stabilize it,” Obi-Wan said, shaking his head a little and lurching off. Bail thumped his head back against the floor and laid breathing up at the ceiling, regretting, not for the first time, the madness that had led him to believe  _ he  _ needed to personally go on this mission. The Jedi had said something about energy from the Dark Side reaching out to them. He was glad it didn’t impact him, but he’d have really preferred it if  _ they  _ didn’t seem so prone to it’s whims.

Obi-Wan came back, eventually. He knelt by Bail’s leg and said, still with a strangely flat affect, “This is going to hurt.”

“That’s alright,” Bail said, trying to smile, “I can take--”

In fact, he could not take it. Obi-Wan shifted his leg and  _ something  _ moved inside and pain reached out, bashed Bail in the center of his mind, and sent him down to blackness. When he woke up, swimming up through the murky waters of unconsciousness, he found himself spread out on a bed in the ship’s small medical bay. He’d been covered with a blanket that he carefully twitched aside. Beneath the blanket, his leg was bandaged and braced. He could see his bare toes below the bandages.

“Hello?” he called, not expecting a response. The ship felt quiet. Dead. A chill climbed his spine as he pushed himself up. A pain patch had been stuck to his arm, but it had gone almost entirely dark. Soon it would wear off. As he shifted, he found a pile placed at his side. “General Jinn? Trooper Kenobi?”

He received no answer. He hissed, pulling the expended pain patch off and applying a new one. He managed to get his leg down, finding a crutch leaning against the wall close to his head. He navigated his way out of the medbay, into the quiet ship, and shivered. He had no idea how long he’d been out. No idea where the Jedi had gone. He felt very cold, suddenly, making his way through the ship, looking for answers.

He found a message, finally, in the cockpit. The holographic representation of General Jinn did not look well. His gaze kept shifting around and he rubbed at his face throughout the entire message. Apparently, he’d decided to move into the planet, to explore and try to find some way to call for help, since the comms on their ship had been irrevocably damaged. “Stay here,” he said, fingers pulling at the skin under his eyes. “Heal. And if we seem… off, when we return. Be careful.”

Organa replayed the message three more times, before leaning back in the chair and dragging a hand through his hair. He briefly considered going after them and laughed, shifting his damaged leg. So, their escape would be fully in the hands of two Jedi who seemed… less than well. And there was nothing he could do about it.

#

“Hello,” Ahsoka said, entering the mediation room cautiously. It had taken her time to track Ben down to this area. She hadn’t known that he needed to meditate. He kept saying he wasn’t a Jedi. She settled down across from him, folding her legs and trying not to stare. That would have been rude. She cleared her throat, remembering that she hadn’t really finished her thought. “You, uh, settling in alright?”

He smiled at her. He smiled a lot, she’d noticed, and at everyone. It was a nice smile. “Well enough,” he said.

She nodded. She didn’t really know how to talk to him, even after he’d saved her life. Things had been like that, at first, with Anakin, she remembered. But she’d never had that problem with Rex and the other clones. They were easy to talk to. They’d probably been designed to be so, she thought, and winced.

Ben’s presence had her thinking about the clones a lot, dragging their participation in the war effort to the front of her mind at all moments and raising questions she didn’t think she’d like the answers to. She blew out a breath and said, to avoid sitting there looking insane, and to come to the reason she’d tracked him down to begin with, “When we were fighting Grievous. You used two sabers at the same time, in a form I didn’t recognize.”

He blinked and bobbed his head. “Oh, yes. My brothers and I developed the form. It’s a style that offers offensive and defensive capabilities that are valuable on the battlefield.”

She had noticed  _ that  _ on her own. He fought like a war unto himself. She’d seen many Masters fight, since she’d been sent to Anakin for training. Ben outmatched almost all of them, though she felt confident that Anakin could hold his own if they were to fight one another.

She picked at her leggings and glanced at him sideways. She’d spent months learning all the techniques Anakin could share, and they’d kept her alive thus far during the war. But she could feel something coming. Something worse than they’d faced before. The cold premonition snuck up on her more and more often, as they days fell past. She’d take whatever edge she could grab, for when the event the Force kept trying to warn her about finally came to pass. “Could you teach me?” she asked, finally marshalling her courage.

For a moment, Ben looked surprised, and then he smiled that charming smile once more. “I’d be glad to show you,” he said, arching an eyebrow. “When would you like to begin?”

She stood. War had also taught her that you did not put things off. People had a tendency to die before they could carry out their plans if you waited too long. “Now,” she said, and flushed at the soft, amused sound he made. “Sorry,” she said. “I’ve never been much for…” She waved her hand at the room. “But if you want to finish meditating, we can meet later.”

“No, no,” he said, standing in a smooth movement. “I was finished, anyway.” He gestured towards the door, following her down the corridor to the training rooms.

He was a patient teacher, in a way that Anakin often was not. He seemed not to mind having to correct the position of her elbow a dozen times before she achieved the correct form. The smile fell away from his face while they worked, replaced by calm focus that did not waver. He walked her through a few sets of practice katas, nodded, and told her that they would meet again in two days to continue their instruction.

She spun the second practice saber she held as he began moving through a more advanced kata, thought about asking to spar, and bit back the question when Anakin entered the room. He brought a frenetic energy with him, charging the air with something like electricity, stirring up the calm stillness that seemed to follow Ben.

Anakin looked over at her, frowning, and she grinned back. Ben spoke before she could. “Ah,” he said. “I was just about to comm you. I’m feeling well enough for some sparring.”

Anakin flashed her a look and then turned his attention to Ben. “Good,” he said, strange and curt, shrugging off his outer tunic and grabbing a practice saber. Ben hummed, stretching his legs. Ahsoka glanced back and forth between them and then slunk back, leaning against the closest wall quietly.

Ben shrugged out of his tunic, following Anakin’s lead. He wore trooper blacks beneath, not the cream fabrics favored by the Jedi. He was smaller than Anakin, both in height and build, but ropy with muscle. Anakin watched him fold up his tunic with a look that made Ahsoka’s cheeks heat. She glanced away, listening to them finish their stretches, glancing back only at the first contact of their practice sabers.

And her breath caught.

They moved together like two halves of one person, spinning in close and jumping away from one another. They fought viciously, not limiting themselves to saber strikes. They threw kicks and more than one punch as she watched, scrambling to get under a guard and to land a blow. The Force sang through the air, utilized to shove and grab.

Anakin had reach and strength, she saw as she watched, but Ben was lightning fast and polished. The Force danced for both of them, filling up the room. The space grew warmer, too, hot enough that they shed more layers, tossing clothing aside without pausing, each trying to gain any advantage as sweat ran down their torsos, and Anakin—

“Not sure you should be watching this, kid,” Rex said, something amused in his voice. Ahsoka had not even heard him come in, though he leaned against the wall beside her, grinning. She glared at him, trying to push down the heat in her face.

“I’m studying their form,” she snapped.

He laughed. “I bet you are.”

She opened her mouth – the clones teased her so much and she wasn’t a kid, not like they all assumed – and a surprised grunt from across the room caught her attention. She looked around to find that Anakin had managed to crowd Ben against a wall, physically pinning him, his metal hand curled around Ben’s throat. The tip of his practice saber rested against Ben’s ribs.

_ Both  _ of Ben’s practice sabers were at Anakin’s neck, crossed in an X, humming. The faint light of the sabers lit up their faces, dancing across the intensity of their eyes. Ahsoka could hear the panting of their breath. “Yep,” Rex said. “Time for us to go.” He took Ahsoka’s arm and tugged her towards the exit.

“But,” she protested, ignored.

“Nope,” he said. “You can come play some ball with me and the boys, how about that? But only if you agree to be on my team.”

#

Ben was  _ impossibly  _ good with a saber. Better than anyone else Anakin had ever fought, better than Qui-Gon had ever been, and Anakin no longer wondered why it had been Obi-Wan who struck the killing blow on the Sith lord all those years ago, not if he had fought like Ben. Fighting him was like fighting the Force itself.

But Anakin was good, too. He could hold his own, he  _ did  _ hold his own, finally managing to get under Ben’s infuriating guard, grabbing him and forcing him against the wall. Even that victory was short lived. He felt Ben’s sabers come to rest against his skin at the same instant he brought his in for the winning blow.

They stood there, staring at one another, afterwards. Anakin’s lungs screamed for oxygen and his muscles sang, aching. He could feel Ben’s pulse racing, information about the exact number of beats per minute translated to his nerves through the sensors in his mechanical palm. The race of Ben’s pulse didn’t stop him from grinning when he said, “Unconventional, but effective.”

He drew back his sabers with a flourish, standing there, arms at his side, with Anakin’s fingers still curled against his throat. He raised an eyebrow, cocking his head to the side, and Anakin’s thoughts ran down quicksilver paths about how he could get rid of that smile right away, and—

Anakin shook himself, setting aside the hot slant of his thoughts with icy help provided by the knowledge of Qui-Gon’s disapproval for those kinds of desires. He took a quick step back, his voice terribly thick when he said, “I’m glad you approve.”

“Mm,” Ben said, still leaning against the wall, Anakin noticed with a quick glance. His hair was all mussed. He looked—

Anakin looked away, gritting his teeth together. He should leave. He knew that. If the last week had taught him nothing, it’d taught him that something about Ben made his blood run far too hot and fast. Ben made him want things that he'd  _ promised  _ not to want, that he'd told Qui-Gon he would not be tempted by, not after Padme. The smart thing to do would be to walk away, but he'd known that everytime he came even close to Ben, and he kept doing it, drawn in like a moth to a flame. 

He walked to the side to grab a drink and said, after swallowing, "Again."

"Alright," Ben said, and Anakin could picture his grin, even without looking, the slow spread of his smile and the flash of his eyes, the wetness of his bottom lip and the curl of sweat down his ribs, the bruises set against his skin by their sparring, some of them in the shape of Anakin's fingers, and Force, how he wanted--

Anakin tossed down the water bottle and blew out a breath, and turned back to find Ben swallowing from his own bottle, his throat moving in a way that snagged every iota of Anakin's hungry attention.

He was still staring when Ben set down the bottle and cracked his neck from side to side. "Well?" Ben asked, flushed all down his chest, deliciously so.

Anakin shoved down the want scratching at his thoughts, spun his saber, and marched forward.

#

Ben walked around with a blinding headache for three days after he sparred with Anakin. It started as a dull throbbing in the back of his mind and crept forward, spreading like wildfire until it filled his skull from one side to the other. He’d tried to shake it off, at first, to bear it with the Force, but by the second day he’d developed concerns that he was experiencing a malfunction.

It happened, sometimes. He’d lost brothers to a sudden degradation of their genetic code. He put those thoughts aside and took himself down to the medbay, submitting to one test after another, waiting to hear, at any point, that there was a cascade failure in his neurotransmitters. 

Skywalker showed up, halfway through the tests, frowning around at everything as was his way, and asking, “What’s wrong? Were you hurt?”

Ben resisted the urge to shrug. That would have prompted the entire test to restart, which he would prefer to avoid. “I’ve been having a headache,” he said, even though speaking  _ hurt _ .

“A headache?” Skywalker scoffed, one corner of his lip twitching. “What’s all this about, then?”

“Type 2s have some problems with neural degradation,” the medic working on him said, before Ben could formulate a reply. “Might be do to with their connection to the Force. The doctors back home aren’t sure.”

Watching Skywalker’s expressions change could be a full-time profession. They shifted so quickly from one to the next. He looked worried, even, shifting closer to the bed and scowling over at the medic. “What kind of problems with neural degradation?”

“They call it cascade failure,” Ben said, sitting very still. “Our neurotransmitters just… stop working. One after another.”

Skywalker flashed him a look, before jerking his gaze away. “What’s the treatment?”

“No treatment,” the medic said, and, when Skywalker jerked to look at him. “Sorry, sir.” 

“But he doesn’t have that, right?” Skywalker said, following the medic away as he went to go examine some test results. Ben closed his eyes, seeking calm and serenity inside his chest. It was a bad way to die, a cascade failure. There was no dignity in it. His heart rate kept trying to climb. Keeping it low provided a temporary distraction, as did the burn of surprise that Skywalker even  _ cared  _ what happened to him.

“It doesn’t  _ look  _ like a cascade failure,” the medic said, startling Ben from his thoughts. “A few of your neurotransmitters are high, even, and it isn’t spreading. Some parts of your brain are all lit up, though, sir. Not sure why.”

Ben opened his mouth, because surely there had to be something beyond that, and Skywalker said, “You’re  _ not sure  _ why?”

The medic shrugged. “Not a lot of information about Type 2s for me to draw on, General. I sent out some messages to other medics, thought I’d find out if they’ve seen anything similar. Turns out a lot of other Type 2s are currently dealing with the same thing. Might just be an adjustment to being off Kamino.”

“Or we’re all defective,” Ben said, trying to make it light. The look Skywalker sent him said he didn’t quite succeed.

Skywalker asked, “How bad is the pain?” Which… wasn’t the question Ben had been expecting. He shrugged as the medic took away the scanning equipment.

“Nothing I can’t handle. What do you need?”

Skywalker stared, then shook himself and looked away. “Nothing. Just… stay here. Let the medics monitor you. If it starts getting worse…” He trailed off, and Ben cocked his head to the side.

“If it gets worse, there’s nothing you’ll be able to do.” Skywalker scowled, turning away and marching out the door, like he couldn’t stand to be in a room where the possibility of failure existed. 

It did get worse, the pain, anyway. The medic insisted his neurotransmitters were mostly behaving themselves, so Ben gritted his teeth and breathed through it, giving in on the third day and probing the problem. 

He had just enough time to realize he’d made a serious miscalculation before  _ something  _ reached out and grabbed him, pulling him into a dark abyss with desperate, grasping hands, like someone drowning shoving their rescuer under the water that they might catch precious air.

He heard alarms going off, for an instant, before the blackness took him away.

#

It had been a mistake, going to a planet where they  _ knew  _ there was some kind of powerful Sith presence. Once hadn’t realized how  _ much  _ of a mistake until General Jinn lost control of himself trying to land their ship and nearly killed them all. Once had managed to shield him - barely - just enough to reduce the grip of the Dark side so that they would not all die in a fireball on the rocky surface of the planet.

As it was, Senator Organa took a serious injury, pinned to the deck by a ruined computer console. It was difficult finding enough focus to help him. It was difficult to think of anything, with the constant tugging on his thoughts, the darkness rising up around him. He went through the motions, feeling disconnected from his body, barely able to remember why they had come here.

He was still faring better than Master Jinn, who was alternatively lost in thought and prone to violent upswings of anger. 

Once could level him out, if he concentrated. But concentrating was difficult, especially when General Jinn began insisting that they march off across the planet, towards the source of this Sith signal. Once had no right to argue with him, so he followed along, darkness creeping around his vision as he fell further and further away from the light.

He lost track of days. Lost track of everything but maintaining what shielding he could on the General. One of them needed to make it - needed to stop whatever was going on here. And obviously that someone should be the General, who was a real person, who had a command to get back to. They could ship out someone to replace Once in a matter of days.

He sank, twisting in the abyss, knowing he would disappear into it and accepting that. And it was then that, from somewhere far away, someone cast him a lifeline. He grabbed it, desperately, pulling with all the meagre strength he had left.

#

The medics aboard the  _ Resolute  _ had little reason to contact Anakin, but he’d been waiting for a message since leaving Ben there. It was strange, he didn’t know what to make of his new Clone trooper, but the thought of him dying - dying badly - twisted something inside of Anakin’s chest, brutal and cruel. He wished there were something going on that he could use as a distraction, but the universe conspired against him. Even Qui-Gon would not reply to Anakin’s comms. His Clone Commander said he was off on his mission, apparently.

Qui-Gon used to take Anakin on his missions. That had stopped, almost entirely, with the outbreak of the war. Now, they rarely saw each other. Perhaps Qui-Gon liked having another Jedi underfoot. Perhaps he appreciated that the thing looked like Obi-Wan, maybe that was what he had wanted all along, with Anakin only a poor replacement--

“Sir?” The message from the medbay cut Anakin’s musings short. “There’s been a change in--”

“I’m on my way,” Anakin interrupted, springing away from the wall where he’d been leaning, arms crossed, scowling at nothing in particular, or the state of the universe as a whole. He made it to the medical bay in moments, waving the door open to find a medic and several droids gathered over Ben’s bed.

Something twisted inside Anakin. He shoved one of the droids away, unthinking, looking down at Ben’s face; his eyes were closed, his expression slack, one of his arms had slipped off of the bed. “What happened?” Anakin demanded, looking down at him, because he did not look like a living man. 

“We don’t,” the medic started, but Anakin was not listening, not really. He reached out, dreading to find Ben’s skin cooling in death, sliding his fingers against a high cheekbone he’d never touched before, and Ben’s eyes snapped open, stunningly and completely black as he twisted on the table, reaching for Anakin.

And Anakin felt… an abyss, beneath him. Beneath Ben, waiting to swallow him up. He jerked, stung by the fierce cold immenating from it, and then Ben’s arms were around his shoulders, fingers gripping tight, and Anakin gripped back, without thought. 

Something touched him, in the all-encompassing expanse of the Force, something like a long, dark tunnel, with a familiar presence at the other end, and he let it pull at him, as somewhere far away he curled his arms around Ben, pulling him closer. He felt cold, deeply, impossibly frigid, falling into a well without a bottom, and without any way to arrest his fall. In a distant place, he could feel Ben, clutched close, but it felt like it was happening to someone else.

He plunged deeper and deeper into the nothingness, following a trail of light that felt like Ben and not like Ben, all at once, and at the end of the trail he found darkness, deeper than the void of space, something that tried to pull him into pieces, to strip from him all that he was. He pushed back at it, a thrashing, animal defense against the pressure, and felt it retreat, at least momentarily. He was left in a grey space, all alone, where he hung, shivering, knowing that Qui-Gon was there with him, somehow, but unable to see him, to hear him, to touch him.

There was no lengthy return to his physical body. He experienced no upward movement along the dark path that delivered him to that shadowed place. He simply was there one heartbeat, and the next there was warmth against his skin and light in the world once more. He shivered, coming back to his body slowly, becoming aware of his position, curled over a bed. His arms were wrapped, still, around Ben, one hand buried in his hair, the other pressed to his spine.

He felt Ben’s mouth, pressed perfect against his, soft and welcoming as Anakin had imagined it to be when he could not stop the thoughts. He went still, ignoring the heat in his spine that wanted very much to continue.

He opened his eyes, carefully, and found Ben’s face very close, impossibly close. He exhaled, punchy, shifting up, away from Ben’s mouth, which was stained all to red. One of Ben’s arms was flung around his neck, still. Ben blinked his eyes open only then, and Anakin was relieved to find them blue once more, though darkened. He could feel, around them, medics and droids, clustered and frozen in place.

“Uh,” he said, feeling like a fool. He drew his hand off of Ben’s back and it felt like a caress. He slid his fingers out of Ben’s hair and regret twisted sharp in his chest. Ben did not immediately remove his arm, and Anakin noticed only then that his grip was for stability, as much as anything else. There was a trembling in his skin and his color, beyond the flush in his cheeks, was poor.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice a rasp that made Anakin very much desire to cup his cheek, pull him close, and taste his mouth again. “That was… different.”

“What was it?” Anakin asked, steading Ben when he shifted his legs over the edge of the medical bed, sitting. The trembles were fading a bit, not so powerful as they had been. “I felt like I was falling through space. And then I felt… I don’t know. I could have sworn my old Master was there.” Qui-Gon had not felt well.

Ben nodded, rubbing his forehead while the medics - freed from their strange hesitation - moved around him, waving scanners. “I was… in the bottom of a well. I don’t remember how I got there. But there were other things there, too. I tried to push them back, but they were pulling me deeper…” he trailed off, gaze going distant, before he looked up at Anakin. “And then you were there.”

Anakin found no words to say, caught by Ben’s gaze. It had been a strange experience, one he really needed to consider more deeply. But it was difficult to focus on that when he kept remembering the feel of Ben’s mouth under his.

“Well,” one of the medics said, clearing his throat, “your neurotransmitter levels are dropping. They’re still higher than normal, but… How’s the headache, sir?”

“Going away,” Ben said, finally breaking Anakin’s gaze. “I feel much better, actually. I should get out of your hair.” He shifted, sliding off the table to his feet, shoulder brushing Anakin’s chest, and the medic made a sharp, disapproving noise.

“Not yet, you’re not,” he said, gesturing back at the bed. “You’re needed for observation.”

Anakin had been through that fight too many times on his own. He shook his head. “Better listen to the doc. I’m going to go contact the Council, see if they know anything about Master Jinn--” He took a step back and cut off, catching, from the corner of his vision, sudden movement from Ben. His legs had gone out, dropping him down as his eyes rolled back. Anakin and the medics all lunged for him; Anakin got there first, bolstered by the Force.

“His numbers are spiking!” one of the medics barked, barely heard. Ben’s limbs shuddered, only a thin sliver of the whites of his eyes were visible, and Anakin swore, pressing a hand to his face. He stilled, after a moment, sucking in a gasping breath. “He’s… stabilizing again,” the medic said, casting Anakin a disapproving look he wasn’t sure he deserved.

“Right,” Anakin said, straightening and helping Ben find his feet. He kept a hand on Ben’s back, just in case. “Right, well, I think you ought to come with me to talk to the Council. And… stay close.”

Ben was flexing his fingers, looking at them with a frown, before turning his gaze up to Anakin. He said, with only a shadow of his usual smile, “I think that’s a good idea.”

#

The days on the planet were strange, over long. It made it difficult for Bail to determine exactly how long he spent in the shipwreck, waiting. He mostly tracked the passage of time based on the itching in his slowly healing leg and the diminishing pile of pain patches that kept him from wanting to cut the limb off entirely.

He spent his days shuffling around the ship and trying to repair the comms, with incredibly limited success. He managed to eventually force it to spit static, but made no further progress. It left him with too much time on his hands, some of which he devoted to sitting outside the ship, staring into the surrounding forests, wondering if his Jedi companions were dead or not, and if anyone would find him before he starved to death.

He was engaging in that pastime when movement on the horizon finally snagged his attention. He realized he’d been watching the small shape for some time, his mind noting the sense of movement though he had not consciously registered it. He leveraged himself to his feet, grabbing up the blaster that he’d found in his wanderings through the ship. General Jinn had called this a Sith planet. Who knew what might live here? Who knew how hungry the native creatures might be?

Bail shifted closer to the hatch of the ship, dragging his leg along, squinting at the small shape drawing steadily closer.

It took nearly an hour - as near as he could figure - before the form got close enough for him to recognize the faded beiges and creams of Jedi robes. He drew in a ragged breath, sagging and peering still at the figure. It looked odd. Misshapen. It took more long moments for him to realize that it was one figure, carrying another across its shoulders, making slowly, limping progress towards him.

He swore, moving to go help and then stopping, because if he went out there the odds were good that the figure would just have  _ two  _ people to haul back to the ship. So he fidgeted about, instead, his gaze drawn constantly back to the figure, which slowly revealed itself to be Kenobi, bent severely under General Jinn’s weight.

Kenobi kept his head up, eyes on the ship, unblinking as he came. There were smears of blood and filth on his cheeks. His mouth hung open. General Jinn’s arms and legs hung down, along with his hair.

“What happened?” Bail demanded, when Kenobi got close enough to be shouted out. He received no reply, no sign of recognition, even as Kenobi marched up the ship, ducking through the hatch, and shuffling down the hall to the medbay, where he grunted and managed to drop General Jinn onto the bed. He swayed back afterwards, waving a hand around as though looking for something to grab and, finding nothing, collapsing down to the floor.

Bail tried to arrest his fall, with some limited amount of success. “What  _ happened _ ?” he asked again, feeling Kenobi trembling beneath his hand. He got no answer, and, at a loss, moved on to look over General Jinn. He was breathing, thank the Force, though his skin was gray and pallid. He had… strange injuries. Burn marks, here and there. There was blood matted into his hair. Bail had no experience as a healer, and stared down, overwhelmed.

“Help is coming,” Kenobi rasped, finally, from the floor. Bail turned to look at him. He’d rolled onto his side, into a loose ball, his eyes still open. “We called. For help.” The words visibly cost him. His lips were cracked and spit.

“Sh,” Bail said, around the huge wash of relief through his chest. “I’ll get you something to drink.” By the time he returned, Kenobi was no longer conscious. He looked… very young, sprawled across the floor, one arm extended out, fingers curled loosely towards his palm. There were dark circles under his eyes, blood splattered on his cheek.

“Force,” Bail hissed, leaving to retrieve a blanket to cover Kenobi. He had no clear idea how else to help, besides keeping watch over them and making sure both of his charges continued to breathe under their own power.

#

Seeing Obi-Wan Kenobi’s face in the Council chambers had not grown less strange since the revelation of his cloning. It still put Mace off his guard, though he’d seen plenty of the clones, reporting in beside their Generals from the field. He even had his own, who went by Whispers and who, indeed, rarely made a sound out of turn. 

Whispers - Mace  _ knew  _ he should refer to the clone by his designation JC-23W, he knew it would… help, in a way, to maintain a distance between them - spent most of his time with the 187th. Mace had sent him into Commander Rav’s care near immediately upon his arrival.

It was… better that way. Certainly less disconcerting than looking to the side and finding a dead man standing there would have been. 

Besides, the Chancellor had requested the opportunity to converse with one of the Type 2s. To assess them before the Senate. Mace had never much cared for the Chancellor. The man had acquired too much power, far too quickly. Perhaps it had merely been twists of fate that led to it; perhaps he truly intended what was best for the galaxy. Mace sent Whispers off-world, nonetheless, and felt better for knowing he could not be reached on the  _ Endurance _ .

Mace still had to fight down a reaction each time one of the clones appeared, including the one beside Skywalker, who helped explain their current strange situation.

“Sensed Master Jinn in peril, you did?” Yoda asked, leaning forward in his chair, with his ears flattening out. He seemed to have no problems adjusting to a dead man in their midst. Perhaps he’d lived long enough to grow used to such things.

“Something like that,” Skywalker said, with a brief look towards his companion. “Do you know where he is?”

Yoda glanced towards Mace, extending two of his fingers in a small gesture. “We do. We received a signal not long ago from Master Jinn. It appears he’s traveled far into Wild Space with a Senator Organa. They’re requesting immediate evacuation.”

Skywalker tensed immediately. “Give me the coordinates,” he said, “I can leave right now.”

“Rescue him, you cannot,” Yoda said. “Found a planet of the Sith, they have. Other Jedi send, we cannot. Already volunteered for the rescue, has Senator Amidala.”

Anakin’s jaw stiffened, before he nodded. “I’m sure the Senator will bring them home,” he said, and Mace narrowed his eyes. He’d always had suspicions about Skywalker and Senator Amidala, since their ill-fated turn together on Geonosis at the start of the war. But Jinn always insisted there was nothing untoward between them.

“I’m sure she will,” Mace said, leaning back in his chair. “I have more questions about this… experience you shared.” He frowned at their holo projection. Skywalker still had a hand on the clone’s shoulder. “That you are still sharing,” he revised.

“I don’t know any more than I’ve told you,” Skywalker said, scowl firmly in place.

“Perhaps not. Did you know that we have received word from several other Generals? Their Type 2s had some kind of attack.” So had Whispers. Rav had contacted Mace to report it, his tone clipped with concern. The medics had forced Whispers into a medical coma by the time Mace found out what was happening. Rav had sent a holo of him, still on a med bed, pale and motionless. 

Mace had not seen Obi-Wan after death.

He felt as though the universe had gone out of its way to make sure he got a look. He shook the thought aside. Whispers had recovered, in any case, stabilizing shortly afterwards, though his neurotransmitter levels had remained elevated. So had those of all the rest of the Type 2s, as far as Mace could tell. He shook himself and continued on. “They had seizures. The medics aren’t sure what to call it. The reports all happened around the time you report this… feeling of falling.”

Skywalker drew up, straightening. The clone’s expression was more difficult to read, not least because Mace found it difficult to look into his face. He had watched Obi-Wan grow from a child to an adult, had grown used to his presence around the Temple, had looked forward to seeing him Knighted, had mourned his death, as appropriate. Now others walked around with his face. It was… disquieting.

“They’re alright now?” the clone asked, the first time he had spoken during their conference. “My brothers?”

“Gotten word that they recovered, we have,” Yoda said. “Under observation, they are.”

“None of them formed a connection, as you say you have,” Master Unduli said, her hands folded neatly in her lap. “I attempted to aid Lieutenant-Commander Grey, personally, and had no success. Do you have an explanation?”

“General Skywalker said he sensed General Jinn,” the clone said, all calm measured tones, not heard in their chambers for so many years. “Perhaps General Jinn was trying to reach out for him from this Sith world.”

“And used you to do it?” Unduli asked, head cocking to the side. “Why? How?”

The clone shrugged. “One of my brothers is likely with him. Perhaps we… resonated, with one another.”

Mace was not the only one to feel a spark of alarm at the prospect. He felt it reflected back to him from around the Council chambers. “Has such a resonance happened before?” he asked.

The clone blinked. “We’ve only been in the galaxy for a few weeks, Master,” he said. “Before that, we were all together. I’m not sure we would have noticed if it did.”

Mace shifted, uncomfortable thoughts filling his mind. Such a resonance was almost unheard of, though closely related Jedi certainly shared a deeper connection than others. These clones could all share the same Force signature, indeed, they certainly seemed to, from the handful that Mace had met. They felt… like one another as much as they all felt like Obi-Wan. The implications of such a shared connection were not something the Council had considered before.

Conversation had moved on around him while he was busy with his dreadful thoughts. Yoda said, “Keep us apprised, you will. May the Force be with you.”

#

Padme had been sent on a great many strange missions as first a Queen and then a Senator. She’d criss-crossed the galaxy, fighting evil, trying to protect those causes that seemed just. She’d never really been sent on a retrieval mission before, much less from the Senate, but it seemed someone had to go retrieve Senator Organa and General Jinn; she’d been happy to volunteer.

The trip out to them was simple enough, she only had to follow the coordinates transmitted back to Coruscant. She achieved orbit around the Sith world without terrible disasters, and insisted on joining the group going down to the planet as a rescue party.

The Jedi had said that the planet damaged their senses, that the Dark Side was so powerful here they could not function. Padme supposed she needed no further proof that she was not Force sensitive. She had a vague sense of dread and uneasiness, but nothing about the planet tore at her mind, striping from her reason and sense. Just as well. She would have been useless as a rescuer in that event.

They landed their ship by the downed craft. Senator Organa waited outside the airlock, waving at them as they came down. One of his legs was thoroughly bandanged, and his hair hung limp around his head. There were circles beneath his eyes, and he smiled, weakly, when Padme walked from the ship, members of her rescue crew fanning out behind her. “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he said, and she clasped his arm.

He didn’t fight the direction into the rescue craft, where he could be left in the hands of a medic. Padme pushed onwards, to find her last two charges. She located them both in the crashed ship’s med bay. General Jinn lay across the single bed, his long frame not fitting quite right. And, slumped against the wall, covered in a blanket, as she had been braced for, there was the clone.

It was strange, the way seeing him hit her in the chest, despite all of her preparations over the last few days.

Obi-Wan Kenobi had died to save her and her world, once upon a time. Oh, she knew that, in the moment of battle, he had likely intended more to save General Jinn than anyone else. But the fact remained that he had sacrificed himself for her, for her people, for her world. She had never forgotten it, how could she? That kind of thing left an impression on a fourteen-year-old.

She’d loved him, for a long time. It had been easy to do, after all. He’d been a brief presence in her life, handsome and clever and - at the time - he had not seemed older to such an impossible degree. And, of course, he had been dead, ever so heroically dead. One of her Handmaidens had once told her, in a quiet, bemused sort of way, that she held onto that idea of love for so long because there was safety in it. How could a living person compare, after all, with the fallen warrior who had given everything for her?

She’d never been much tempted by the offers she received for companionship, content with her mourning for a long lost affection that had never really been. 

She knew, even, that there had been whispers about it on Naboo and later in the Senate. Assumptions made due to her long stretch in mourning garb - an acceptable display for such a sacrifice for the planet - and her lack of interest in romantic entanglements. And maybe she had only wished to safeguard herself, to stay protected from the heartache she saw so many others go through. Based on Obi-Wan’s actions, she had never thought he’d begrudge her protection, even for her heart. She’d held onto the childish affection for so long, well into adulthood, perhaps until she’d run into Anakin once more and been thrown with him into trials and hardship.

He had touched her heart, moving past all her defenses in a way she had not anticipated, so perhaps she was just predisposed to a fondness for Jedi warriors. That love hadn’t worked out either - how could it? Neither one of them were in any position to indulge in it, so it remained just a sweet memory of a few days of stolen affections.

The memories always returned to her when she was approached by other hopeful suitors, filling up her heart. 

And now someone with Obi-Wan’s face lay before her again. She knelt, slowly, her chest feeling strange and tight. It was unbelievable, how similar they looked. She could find no differences at all. It was as though she were back on Naboo, staring at the funeral pyre before it was lit, trying to engrave his face into her memory through a sheen of tears she could not allow to fall, for that would ruin the mask painted onto her skin.

“Senator?” one of the members of the rescue crew asked, clearing her throat. “It’s time for us to take him.”

Padme blinked, shifting back on her heels. Already they’d removed General Jinn, while she’d been lost in thought. She felt her cheeks heat and nodded, standing and moving from their way as they brought in a stretcher and loaded the clone up.

Fortunately, the clone would have no memories of her. And no reason to suspect any of her feelings. She’d let them go, for the most part, a crutch she no longer needed. Even still, perhaps she’d avoid him on the trip back to Coruscant. That might be for the best.

#

Anakin ended up living out of Ben’s pockets for the next few days. They couldn’t move too far apart, or Ben’s headache returned viciously and, shortly after that, he’d slip into the strange funge state. So, they spent days - and nights - almost close enough to touch. It was… a challenge on his control.

He slept down in the barracks throughout the entire experience. It felt like a bad idea, having Ben in his quarters, sleeping, necessarily close. Ben looked different when he slept. Younger. Anakin watched him sometimes, frowning at first over the inconvenience of their tethering, trying to hold onto that frustration and failing, each time. 

He grew fascinated by the hints of burnished copper in Ben’s hair, the soft spread of his eyelashes, the way his chest rose and fell in his blacks as he slept. He could see the images, even on the insides of his eyelids when he rolled, putting his back to Ben and trying to shut down his thoughts. At least the presence of all the troopers around them, shifting and snoring and sleeping, kept the entire thing from feeling private.

Ben followed him to each meeting, something Anakin hadn’t allowed before the tethering, and Anakin was forced to admit that he offered sound suggestions to the problems they faced. It made sense. He’d no doubt been trained in battlefield tactics. Anakin - all of the Jedi - had not, really. They’d just been thrown into a war after centuries of handling smaller conflicts, and expected to adapt. Jedi knew how to fight, well enough. It was commanding thousands of other people in the best way to fight where their practical knowledge ran out.

Lack of experience - and a dread that his orders would result in the deaths of all of his men - had always led Anakin to take charge in any fight they ran into. If he could resolve things quickly, on his own, it didn’t  _ matter _ that he didn’t know, off hand, the best way to deploy three battalions of ground troopers and an air wing. Ben looked at arrays of troops and offered answers like they were obvious, often echoed by Rex, and Anakin wondered, in the privacy of his mind, if Rex had known these things all along, too, and just been waiting for Anakin’s permission to speak.

Ben never waited for permission to do anything. He just… made suggestions, and then looked at Anakin with a raised eyebrow, and Anakin tried to find flaws in the suggestions the first few times, on principle, mostly, before nodding and going along with it. He had his pride, but he also had the lives of his men to consider, and, despite what the Council may have thought, he did value them.

They sparred, which Anakin found no less stimulating as the days went on, and they meditated, as well, mostly because Ben insisted on it and only looked puzzled when Anakin tried to demur his way out of the activity. So, they sat down to meditate, and Anakin found it easier than he often had in the past. Perhaps it was the tether to Ben, who seemed to actually enjoy the process, for all that he protested he wasn’t a Jedi.

And through all of the days they spent together, they didn’t talk about the kiss. It hadn’t - technically - been a kiss, Anakin thought. Just the easiest way for a connection to form, or even a physical response to the need to pull Ben back from whatever brink he’d fallen over. Like giving air to a suffocating person. That was how Anakin thought about it, building carefully constructed justifications.

None of them held up very well to the hot ache inside him, that only grew fiercer, spending days and nights in close company with Ben. He remembered too well the press of Ben’s mouth, the way Ben felt in his arms. Meditating didn’t help to ease those memories, and sparring certainly did not. At least not the way they did it, fighting close to ensure Ben didn’t drift closer to that well once more.

Anakin held all those hungers at bay, fiercely. Qui-Gon would never approve. Especially, Anakin thought, if such hungers were directed at someone who looked so much like his old apprentice. Obi-Wan had been perfect in that way, never wanting things a Jedi wasn’t supposed to want. Well, Anakin could control himself, too.

He could. He did.

But he got used to having Ben around, every moment of every day, and so it was a surprise, one morning, to wake up, roll over, and find Ben’s bed empty. Anakin heard him talking some distance away, across the room, quiet voiced.

It jerked Anakin fully into wakefulness. He sat up in the bunk, scrubbing a hand across his face and feeling his nerves pricking. Ben was, yes, across the room. Discussing something with Rex, both their heads bent as they gestured at a pad. His hair was still sleep ruffled, so he couldn’t have been awake for long. His blacks were twisted a bit, revealing a strip of skin on his back. 

Anakin looked away, shoving to his feet. “Ah,” Ben said, without turning to look at him, “you’re awake.”

“Are you alright?” Anakin asked, despite all evidence that Ben was fine. He crossed the room, tugging his under-tunic into order. 

Ben blinked up at him, a smile quirking up the corners of his mouth. “I am, thank you. I woke up this morning with the tether gone. We received word that Senator Amidala picked up General Jinn in the night. I assume they must be a safe distance from the problem area.”

“Good,” Anakin said, because that was obviously the correct response in this situation. It was good that they’d be able to get some space away from one another. Because he wasn’t the only one stealing glances, he knew that much.

Ben watched him, bright eyes tracking his movements. He wasn’t even secretive about it. He touched Anakin, bumped against him, put a hand on his shoulder, drew him closer. And it was natural, a clear result of having to live so close to one another for days. Anakin knew he did the same thing. He knew he was doing it  _ in that moment _ , as he moved closer, instead of away, bumping Ben to look down at the pad they were studying.

“What are we working on now?”

#

Qui-Gon woke abruptly, awareness flooding back into his mind all at once in a quicksilver wave that left him jerking upright. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, feeling heavy-headed, the way one felt after sleeping too long or spending too long in a bacta tank. He’d been pushed under, some time ago. Into a trance of some kind. He felt the lingering essences of the power used to accomplish the task still in his mind.

They felt of Obi-Wan. 

And Anakin, too.

Medical droids swarmed towards him as he adjusted to the alarms going off through the room, alerting everyone that he had awoken. He took the opportunity to look around. He was on a Republic ship, a small one, not a fighting craft. It was regally appointed. A Senator’s ship, then. He was in the Med Bay, and not alone.

On the bed closest to him, Senator Organa was stirring from the alarms - already turned off by the droids - and carefully shifting a badly wounded leg. It had been tended to, but the hurt of it still radiated off of Organa. Qui-Gon had vague memories of a crash, of Organa hurt in the aftermath, of leaving him behind. After that, everything got significantly blurrier.

He and Obi-Wan had, yes, marched off, away from the Senator. They’d plunged themselves into the planet, ignoring the heavy presence of the Sith. All his memories were dreamlike, half-finished. Until he came to a memory of Darth Maul. The creature had been there, on the planet, he recalled, all at once, taunting them in the trees, threatening Obi-Wan anew, and--

Qui-Gon pushed past the med droid calmly instructing him to return to his bed, please, past Organa’s bed, to the next in line, where Obi-Wan lay, curled onto one side, skin overpale and eyes closed. But breathing. Qui-Gon saw him breathing and felt him still in the living Force. He sagged, leaning a hip against the bed, and Obi-Wan opened his eyes, blinking up, asking, “General?” He pushed up, suddenly, alertness coming into his expression. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Qui-Gon scrubbed a hand over his face. Now that the initial shock of memory had passed, other realizations trickled into his mind. It hadn’t  _ quite _ been Maul, on the planet. No living thing could move like that. It had been… some Sith trick. Getting into his mind, making him charge off. He would have fought it to exhaustion. Perhaps he had. He could recall nothing after that. “I was recalling what happened on the planet.”

“Oh.” Obi-Wan shifted around. He did not  _ feel  _ injured, necessarily. Just exhausted. Drained almost to the dregs. “Yes.”

“What happened? At the end?”

Obi-Wan stared at him for a moment, saying nothing, expression carefully wiped clean. “I don’t know exactly, General. The power of the Dark side was strong there. Overwhelming. You lost consciousness, and I helped you into a trance.”

“And then?”

“And then I carried you onward,” Obi-Wan said, shrugging. “We were close to the temple, by then. I managed to disrupt some of the machinery, enough to send a message. And then we went back to the ship to wait. Senator Amidala came to rescue us, she wanted to see you when you woke up.”

Qui-Gon looked at him and felt… such a swell of familiar pride and grief, all at once. His Obi-Wan had always pressed on, through impossible circumstances, and then relayed the results like they were commonplace afterwards. And Qui-Gon, more the fool, had always acted as though he had done only what was expected, what was necessary. He swallowed, looking aside. “You were not overwhelmed?” he said, because he could not think of the other words he needed to say, instead.

“I’m not Jedi,” Obi-Wan said, with a little shrug. 

Qui-Gon frowned. “You--”

“And I think I reached for my brothers. It’s difficult to remember. But we used to do such things, back on Kamino. Touch one another’s minds. They helped.”

Qui-Gon stared, considerations and surprise washing through him. “You were parsecs away from any of your… brothers.”

Obi-Wan stared back, pale eyes ringed by dark circles. He said only, “I know. But I felt them. And someone else, too.” He shifted, eyes moving to the side, remembering. “They felt familiar, in a way. And full of the Force. Worried about you.”

“Anakin.” The answer felt obvious. After all, had Qui-Gon not felt the lingering touches of Anakin’s mind, when he awoke? Obi-Wan blinked at him. “One of my old Padawans. He’s a General as well.”

Obi-Wan only shrugged. “I don’t know how I felt him. I’ve never touched anyone who wasn’t another clone. But I’m glad I did. It took all of them to let me think clearly enough to do what had to be done.”

“For which you have my gratitude.” Qui-Gon settled one hand on his shoulder.

Obi-Wan frowned, shaking his head. “I was only doing my duty--”

“No,” Qui-Gon cut in, unable to stop himself, thinking about what had come of Obi-Wan, doing his duty as he saw it, once upon a time. The thought shot a bolt of terror through him, quickly excised. He knew the dangers of terror and fear, all too well. “Please,” he said, when he had controlled himself, “you have no duty to me.”

Obi-Wan stared at him, and how many times had Qui-Gon failed to tell him this? How many times had Qui-Gon just nodded after he nearly got himself killed, trying to be all things to all people? Well, never again. “And I am so glad you are alright.”

#

Cody saw Once briefly, after General Jinn finally returned to the  _ Fallen Star _ . There was to be no official discussion of the mission the General had been on; just as there was to be no discussion about the temporary presence of Senators Organa and Amidala on the ship. Cody was getting used to a lack of official discussions, to secrets.

They were just part of the world.

He didn’t think Once was so used to them. He looked pale and tired, when Cody saw him, and then he shut himself up in his quarters. The solitude couldn’t be good for him; they weren’t made to be alone, at least Cody’s brothers weren’t. He couldn’t imagine that the Type 2s had been constructed differently.

And Once was, technically, in Cody’s chain of command. His Lieutenant-Colonel. He needed checking up on, so Cody finished his duties and went to check. He lifted his hand to knock on the door, not as surprised as he could have been when the door opened first. There was no one directly on the other side, but it seemed an invitation.

He entered the room. Once sat on his bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the far wall. “Hey.” Cody took a step towards him. He didn’t stir. “Once?” He only moved, startling, when Cody put a hand on his shoulder and shook him. “You alright, there?”

Once blinked, slowly pivoting his head in Cody’s direction. “Yes, of course.” His mouth quirked up. “I’m fully recovered from my injuries.”

“Right.” Cody eyed him. He didn’t look hurt and he’d gotten a clean bill of health from the medics; Cody had checked. “What were you doing?” Because he’d knew a first brush with combat take men in strange ways. Staring at a wall, unresponsive, wouldn’t be the strangest response they’d handled. It still concerned him. 

It concerned him more when Once frowned. “I…” He blinked and scrubbed at his face, shaking his head a bit. He hadn’t moved to stand, which felt strange all on it’s own. “I must have been meditating.” 

He didn’t sound entirely sure, but maybe he didn’t  _ know  _ why he’d been staring at the wall. The need to recover could catch you like that, leave you doing things you didn’t realize you were doing. It was bad to be alone, at those times. Cody squeezed his shoulder. “Come on.” He didn’t know exactly what they would do, but there was always something going on during down-time, even if it was just polishing armor. Once didn’t ask for specifics, in any case. He just stood up and followed Cody out of the quarters.

Cody kept him close, that evening, just to keep an eye on him, and he seemed alright. He didn’t fall into staring at nothing again, at the very least.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A joint mission between Generals Skywalker and Jinn prompts major changes for all involved parties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I was only posting on Fridays, but I'm a very impatient person and I couldn't resist.

The war never slowed, never offered anyone a chance to breathe or recuperate. Days blurred into weeks faster than Anakin could track, time demarcated with new scars and new nightmares more than anything else. He had no time to think or plan, only to adapt to each new challenge put before him.

Ahsoka, apparently, wasn’t as strapped for time as everyone else. She slid down across from him in the mess after their latest run in with the Separatists, and said, “So, I’ve been thinking about the clones.”

Anakin blinked. The mess was near empty; Anakin had been delayed by a holo conference with Qui-Gon; the  _ Fallen Star  _ was currently en route to their destination. It was the first time they would be working together, since they’d received their new troops.

Anakin… wasn’t looking forward to the event. A hard knot had formed in his gut and failed to fade since the orders had come down from the Senate. He knew he needed to check on his old master, see how things were going. He was just worried about what he would find in his checkup.

The thought of Qui-Gon boarding the  _ Resolute  _ left him with a tight feeling of dread for other reasons, as well. Since the tethering, Anakin had been terribly aware of Ben. He wanted -- well. He wanted many things. Focusing on Qui-Gon’s disapproval was sometimes the only thing that kept him from pushing closer than he should.

He had a terrible sense that Qui-Gon would take one look at him and  _ know  _ everything in Anakin’s thoughts. He wondered if the mere fact that he’d considered such desires with such frequency would be enough to earn his old Master’s ire. He had a feeling it would be. Qui-Gon would say he should have released the feelings to the Force weeks - months - ago, instead of allowing them to grow inside him.

He shook all those concerns aside. Better to focus on what Ahsoka was saying as she leaned a little closer and continued, “I’ve been wondering, I mean. How did they get the genetic material?” Anakin stopped chewing. “I mean, Jango Fett pretty much lived on Kamino, right, we know how they got ahold of  _ his  _ DNA. But, Obi-Wan, he was…”

“Cremated,” Anakin finished for her, when she trailed off, her fingers clenching around the pad she held. He didn’t know why it bothered her to say; she hadn’t known Obi-Wan. She hadn’t seen his body after he died

“Right,” she said, bobbing her head. “So, how’d they do it? Since we found the clones, we’ve all been assuming the process required significant amounts of biological material. And a – a willing donor.”

Anakin scrubbed a hand up over his face. There hadn’t been time to think about where the clones had come from, really. They’d been run ragged and that didn’t seem likely to cease anytime soon. But her questions were worth answering, if that were even possible. “We’ll check it out,” he said, pushing the rest of his rations away; he was no longer very hungry. “After we complete this mission.” He swallowed a bitter taste in his mouth. “Master Qui-Gon should be joining us soon.”

Both the  _ Resolute  _ and the  _ Fallen Star  _ were supposed to go to Wambevino IV; Qui-Gon had further to travel than they had, and they waited in orbit around a small planetoid. The orders to get to Wambevina IV had been a surprise; last Anakin had heard it was just some backwater, barely of interest to anyone, with no inhabitants despite multiple signs of past habitation. It would have made a decent forward base, but there were better choices.

Until the Republic had discovered rhydonium deep under the planet’s crust. They’d been eager to set up extraction operations to get to the fuel. So eager that the Separatists had noticed. The miners and the soldiers assigned to the planet had sent an emergency distress beacon when the Separatist fleet appeared above them.

That had been days ago. No one had heard from them since.

And so the Senate had sent Anakin and Qui-Gon to break the fleet and secure the planet or – barring that – make certain that the Separatists couldn’t use the fuel. After all, the reasoning went, the planet was uninhabited anyway.

Anakin didn’t relish the thought of a long, drawn out battle just to secure some fuel. He’d have rather ruined the planet from orbit and been done, if that option were on the table, anyway, but the Senate had been insistent that they at least  _ try _ to reclaim the mines. He was sure Qui-Gon wouldn’t budge on the issue.

Ben had some ideas about how they might proceed, using his hands to manipulate holos from the planet, his gaze intent on the plans for a potential battle. Anakin had gotten used to listening to his plans, these past three months. It was difficult to remember, sometimes, what it had been like before Ben came to them. He’d become indispensable without Anakin noticing, often the first person Anakin spoke with in the morning and the last he said anything to at night. And if Anakin saw him, sometimes, in dreams, too. Well. He kept that fact to himself.

Their tethering had left a connection between them, something Anakin felt while asleep or awake in the back of his mind. He’d feel curiosity, amusement, determination from Ben, and felt them so regularly they’d grown familiar. The emotions let him know where Ben was, at any given time, allowed them to move together without thought on the battlefield or around the ship. It made fighting beside him thrilling.

It was nothing like the bond he’d shared with Qui-Gon, nor the connection he had with Ahsoka. There was an ease to it that, honestly, concerned him. He worried what Ben might get back from him, and so he worked to shove down all the responses he had that he ought not, the flares of heat when Ben smiled at him across a briefing table, or the sharper want when he managed to catch Ben’s arm and pull him close when they were sparring.

He must have successfully kept those messy wants locked away, because Ben never looked at him chidingly. Anakin put those thoughts aside as the  _ Fallen Star  _ finally came alongside. A message from Qui-Gon, informing Anakin that he would be arriving shortly to visit the  _ Resolute _ , appeared moments later. He’d been expecting it. Qui-Gon always liked to talk face-to-face.

“Come on,” Ahsoka said, nudging Ben in the side. “You should meet Master Qui-Gon. He trained Anakin, you know.” Anakin’s jaw clenched. He hadn’t wanted, really, to have Ben anywhere near Qui-Gon. He didn’t want to see Qui-Gon’s expression, upon the introductions. But it was done now. Ahsoka patted his arm on her way past, down to the hangers.

Anakin followed her, the weight in his stomach growing heavier with each step.

They did not have to wait long for the shuttle to arrive.

Anakin straightened his shoulders, took a bracing breath, and folded his hands behind his back as the shuttle doors opened. Qui-Gon had to duck to get through. There was more grey in his hair than last time Anakin had seen him, but he looked well enough, smiling when he caught sight of them. “Anakin!” he said, stepping forward to clasp Anakin’s shoulders, almost disguising the movement behind him.

Someone else came down the ramp, someone with copper hair – trimmed shorter than Ben’s – and with no beard. He wore the same robes, but no armor. He had the same blue eyes. And he looked, horribly, strikingly, even more like Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon was saying, while blood beat hard against Anakin’s ears, “come here. Meet my old apprentice, Anakin Skywalker.”

The clone nodded, stepping forward to stand near Qui-Gon’s side. Anakin stared at him for a moment, before looking back at Qui-Gon. “You’re not--”

“And his apprentice, Ahsoka Tano. You’ve gotten taller again,” Qui-Gon said, smiling over at Ahsoka. She did, indeed, seem to be on a never-ending growth spurt. He was waiting for the day when she started looking down on him. Togruta could get toweringly tall, especially with the montrals.

“It’s good to see you, Master Qui-Gon,” Ahsoka said, her throat apparently not full of a knot, the way Anakin’s seemed to be. He could not move forward. Not past the fact that Qui-Gon was  _ still  _ calling the clone  _ Obi-Wan _ . What the  _ kriff  _ was _ that  _ about? “And this is, uh, Ben.”

“Mm,” Qui-Gon said, something shifting in his emotions, deep and sudden, enough to drag Anakin’s attention around. Qui-Gon nodded briefly in Ben’s direction, without really looking at him, his gaze sweeping out across the hangar bay, dismissive. “I suppose we should go over our plans,” he said, striding forward as though he owned the  _ Resolute. _

Anakin let out a breath, shrugging off Ben’s touch when he placed a hand, briefly, on Anakin’s shoulder. Irritation stung, sharp, at his thoughts. He was surprised Qui-Gon wasn’t gathering Ben up, too. Maybe the beard threw him off. He ground his teeth together, and followed Qui-Gon, flexing his fingers out.

#

Ben eyed his brother, noting the tension around his eyes and his mouth, the thrum of discomfort spreading into Ben’s mind. It was the first time he’d seen one of his brothers since he left Kamino, and he moved forward, arm extended to clasp hands. They pulled one another closer, the gesture automatic, resting the sides of their heads together, eyes closed briefly. His brother let out an unsteady sigh, and said, within his mind  _ It’s good to see you _ .

He recognized the touch of Once’s mind. They’d not bunked closely on Kamino, but there had been so few of them. They’d all grown to know one another. And… he recognized Once, from more recent contact. His mind felt familiar; it brought with it a sensation of falling, of all-encompassing darkness. _ You as well, _ Ben said, leaning back. They couldn’t afford a long greeting. Their Generals were already leaving, marching off through the ship. They wouldn’t be difficult to find. Anakin had remained a bright spot in Ben’s mind, even after their tethering had finished. He could have found Anakin anywhere on the ship.

Perhaps even from further distances.

They fell into step with one another, easily. He watched some of the Type 1s do a double-take as they passed. They were, apparently, not so used to seeing doubles of anyone else walking around. The thought amused Ben, briefly.  _ He calls you Obi-Wan _ , Ben said, banking back a feeling of slow dread that strangled his amusement with the Type 1s. He’d researched enough to know that Obi-Wan Kenobi had been their template. He knew General Skywalker had known Obi-Wan briefly, but he’d never called Ben by a dead man’s name.

Once locked down. It was a strange sensation, like a sudden shutting of doors that Ben had only ever known to be open. None of them had attempted to hide from  _ each other _ on Kamino, though they’d learned well how to shut themselves off from their instructors. It was easy enough, especially when they were together. 

_ It helps him, _ Once said, without any feeling behind it, even as Ben pushed at him, more out of curiosity than anything else.  _ He needs to do it _ .

_ But that’s not who you are _ , Ben pushed, again, and got, finally, access to some of the confusion and disorder beneath Once’s control.  _ You’re not _ \--

_ There they are _ , Once said, speeding his steps, falling out of synch with Ben as he moved forward. He didn’t look back and the access to his feelings tightened again, constricting, shutting Ben out.

Ben stared at him for a moment, more surprised than stung, and then followed. He watched the way General Jinn smiled, motioning Once close and clasping a hand to his shoulder. There was none of the tension there that Ben ran into with General Skywalker, no scowls, no sense that one wrong move might get him ejected from the ship.

But, then, General Skywalker didn’t feel like that all the time. His emotions changed quickly as the sea on Kamino, and sometimes for as little discernible reason. He felt… furious, at the moment, hurt and angry. When Ben came to stand by his shoulder, he didn’t so much as glance over in acknowledgment. 

Ben had gotten used to the swiftly changing nature of Anakin’s emotions. At least he could read them easily. The connection they shared allowed that. It also allowed him the sense that the anger wasn’t directed so much at  _ him _ . Anakin’s ire always felt sharper edged when aimed Ben’s way, but he hadn’t felt that in some time, not since their very first run-in with Grievous. 

Ben felt Ahsoka looking at him and glanced over; her mouth was twisted, unhappy. He clasped her arm, briefly, before focusing on the briefing.

#

Anakin felt only relief when Qui-Gon left the  _ Resolute  _ to travel back to the  _ Fallen Star _ after their discussion. It wasn’t a feeling he usually experienced when his Master left. Historically, each separation brought him sadness and also a sharp little thrill of success; he’d been made a Knight and a General, he’d  _ made it _ , despite all the Council’s doubts about his worthiness.

But he was glad, this time, to watch Qui-Gon leave, taking with him the clone he called Obi-Wan, that he treated…. Well.

Like his old apprentice.

There was something twisted there. The clone was taking advantage, that much was obvious. Playing on Qui-Gon’s old affection, on Qui-Gon’s connection to the man they were all based on. It was cruel and shameless, but when Anakin had tried to bring any of that up, Qui-Gon had just looked at him as though he were mad.

“Don’t be foolish, Anakin,” he’d said, shaking his head. It had been unnecessarily difficult to separate him from the clone, even for a moment.

“He’s not--” Anakin started, setting his jaw. He knew of old how disagreements with Qui-Gon usually went. Qui-Gon was so stubborn, so used to believing he was correct about everything. It made it more frustrating that the clone had so easily twisted him around into this foolish bit of play-acting, or whatever it was.

“This conversation is over,” Qui-Gon had said, shaking his head. Disappointment sat on his expression. “I think you need time to adjust. I will see you again on Wambevino IV.”

That had been the last they’d spoken, before Qui-Gon left, taking the clone with him. Anakin scowled after their shuttle, before turning on his heel. Ben was waiting for him, by the doors to the hangar, leaning against the wall, his heels crossed, working on a pad. He asked, as Anakin approached, “Ready to spar?”

“No,” Anakin bit the word out, because he didn’t want to see Ben’s face, not any single version of it. He wanted to-- He drew to a stop, teeth grinding, and then said, “Actually, yes. Let’s go spar.” 

And it felt good, to slam Ben to the ground with more force than he should, to see his eyes, staring up, wide and surprised, before Ben did  _ something  _ with his legs and they ended up flipped.

Ben didn’t ask him to speak about how he felt. He didn’t chide Anakin for bringing too much anger into the sparring ring. He didn’t preach at Anakin to be  _ patient _ or to release his emotions to the kriffing Force. He just dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, not even looking when he shook aside the blood, and reset his guard, tilting his chin to call Anakin forward again, like a dare, like a  _ challenge _ .

Anakin never could resist a challenge, and they fought until he felt wrung out and shaky with exertion, until they came to a tumbling stop, Ben crouching over him, one hand in Anakin’s hair, holding his head to the ground, the other holding the blade of a practice saber across his throat, while Anakin held one against his sternum.

“Are we done, then?” Ben asked, breathing hard, hair dark with sweat, and Anakin found the anger in his chest overwhelmed and beaten back by different hot desires, that would have brought just as much disappointment to Qui-Gon. Not that Qui-Gon was following his own rules, anymore. No doubt he still expected  _ Anakin _ to listen.

He blinked, swallowed, and said, “Yeah. We’re done.”

Ben nodded, withdrawing his blade and falling to sprawl across the floor beside Anakin. They lay there, breathing without speaking, until Anakin rubbed a hand over his face, and said, “You’re not Obi-Wan Kenobi. None of you.”

“No,” Ben said, after a beat, “we’re not.”

His agreement calmed more of the seething emotions inside Anakin. He closed his eyes and said, “Alright. What’s his name? His real name?” 

Ben shifted. The sides of their heads touched. “Once. He’s called Once.”

Anakin nodded, shifting against Ben. He’d have to talk to Qui-Gon again, make him see sense. And now he felt calm enough to do that in a way that wouldn’t devolve into shouting, the way so many of their conversations did. But first, he’d lay here, just a little while longer, breathing, and feeling the heat radiating off of Ben, and carefully thinking about nothing.   
#

Anakin worried too much, but he always had. Qui-Gon knew it had been a concern of the Council for many years. How could a Jedi forever anxious about could bes and what ifs ever appropriately use the Force? How could such a Jedi reach the state of mental clarity necessary to perform their duties as required?

Qui-Gon had always disputed their concerns; the Force certainly didn’t agree, it clung to Anakin fiercely. But, in the privacy of his own mind, where it would not appear as weakness to the Council, sometimes he agreed. Anakin’s concerns could be unnecessary and distracting, both to himself and others, Qui-Gon could not help but thinking, when his old apprentice said over the holo feed in his quarters, “But he isn’t Obi-Wan. You know that he isn’t Obi-Wan.” It was the same discussion they’d had only a few hours before, but Anakin could be like that, unable to move forward.

“Anakin.” Qui-Gon rubbed his face. Anakin had a bruise blossoming across his jaw. It hadn’t been there when Qui-Gon left the  _ Resolute. _ He’d never shown enough restraint when sparring, but Qui-Gon was no longer his Master and no longer needed to scold him for it; not that scolding him for anything had ever done any good. Anakin did not take some corrections to heart. Others he felt too much, and there was no way of predicting which way he would blow on any given subject. “You must see that in every way that matters, he is the same.”

Anakin jerked his head, just a little. “Master,” he said, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “He’s a clone. I have one, too--” Anakin did have a clone, that was true, but he hardly looked like Obi-Wan, hardly felt like Obi-Wan, obviously he was not, just some poor copy “--Obi-Wan is dead. He can’t come back.”

“Enough,” Qui-Gon said, waving a hand. “I don’t need  _ you  _ to lecture me on the past. You should focus on the present, Anakin. How many times have I told you that?”

“But--”

“No, this discussion is only fueling your anxiety. You should seek to center yourself before the battle.” 

Anakin looked furious with him when he ended the comm, but there was nothing more they could say to one another. He’d always suspected Anakin would respond poorly if he took another Padawan. It was one of the reasons he had not requested another apprentice, though a minor one. Qui-Gon had not  _ wanted  _ to teach anyone else.

And then the universe had given him back Obi-Wan, given him the chance to do things correctly, the way they should have been done so many years before. He felt his irritation bleed away, letting the tension from the conversation with Anakin go. They had a battle to prepare for. And Anakin just needed time to understand. 

He’d grow to see, in time, that Qui-Gon was being given a chance to do things properly. 

#

Once prepared for battle alone. It was unpleasant, after pulling on his armor with his brothers his entire life. It was made worse by the fact that he could feel Ben, still, on the  _ Resolute _ . They could have prepared together. But the General expected him to get ready on his own, as the Jedi did. He did it without complaint, joining the Type 1s in the hangar after he was already prepared. The General also disliked the pieces of armor he wore; they were, apparently, improper for a Jedi. Once had left them behind and felt itchy, incomplete, without them. But they’d been in several engagements by that point; he’d grown used to functioning in their absence.

The General spoke briefly to the gathered masses, but they’d already been over the plans; the drop ships would take them to the planet’s surface, well beyond the Separatist forces clustered around the mining operations. They would move closer by means of some abandoned mines - though the miners had not provided an explanation of  _ why  _ they were abandoned, only that they were long derelict - and take the Separatist forces by surprise while General Skywalker’s forces engaged them directly.

It all sounded so clean and neat, but Once had an odd, tight feeling in his chest that didn’t ease, even when Commander Cody walked back through the drop ship, checking his harness before moving onto the next trooper. 

He’d come to find the Commander a very soothing presence. It was easy to feel centered around him. He exuded calm; Once felt that he could absorb some of it, as though through osmosis. Once often sought him out, even on the  _ Fallen Star _ . It was fortunate for him that Cody did not seem to mind his presence, the way some of the other Type 1s did.

He could not blame them. General Jinn treated him so oddly, so differently than the way he handled the Type 1s. It made it difficult for them to work as one group. Once shook his head, refocusing on the present.

The knot remained in Once’s chest as Cody moved down the line, passing him with a small nod and a smaller smile. It remained as they left the  _ Fallen Star _ , and as the drop shift shuddered upon breaching the atmosphere, and he thought, he truly did, that he knew what was causing it when the Separatists started trying to bring the ships down, firing on them from the surface.

A lance of plasma fire cut clean through the craft, top to bottom, knocking them asunder and out of the sky. Once stared at the hole punched through their craft as they spiraled, and thought, surely, that was the bad thing he’d been feeling on the horizon.

He was wrong, but he didn’t know that as they tumbled and fell the rest of the way to the planet’s surface, the impact jerking them in their harnesses and leaving the inside of the ship in a state of quiet, just momentarily.

Once shook his head, tasting blood in his mouth, but feeling no major injuries, and released his harness. There was an ache in his mind, sharp and breath-taking. Dust was blowing into the craft already; it had been ripped almost in two. Many of the troopers were… gone. They’d lost some in the crash. Others hung limp in their harnesses. The survivors stirred, gathering themselves quickly. Once met the Commander’s eyes as he helped an injured man to his feet, and nodded at him, relieved to see him alive.

It was only then that he finally pinpointed the cause of the pain in his mind - the pain not coming from his body - turning to find the General slumped in his harness, his head hanging down, his robes soaked with something dark and wet.

He was alive, Once felt him still through their bond. Alive and clawing his way to consciousness with a stubborn determination. Once moved forward, calling, over one shoulder, “We need a medic here, for the General.”

#

Anakin was in a foul mood when they prepared to move against the Separatists, still thinking about his last conversation with Qui-Gon. He didn’t  _ want  _ to be near Ben, to even see his face, but he’d learned his lesson on leaving Ben behind.

Besides, half the plan had  _ come  _ from Ben. He needed to be planetside for when everything went spectacularly wrong, the way it always did. That didn’t mean that Anakin needed to be around him, to feel the tension he put off before a fight and below that the calm stillness inside his mind, so tempting to the deeper parts of Anakin that were always in turmoil. He denied himself, firmly keeping his distance. They made planetfall with relatively little trouble, though he could see surface-to-air missiles firing up out of Separatists strongholds.

They just weren’t the targets.

Anakin couldn’t even take any pleasure in that. If they weren’t being shot down, it just meant someone else  _ was. _ He shoved that thought aside as their transport touched down, giving them just enough time to jump out and scramble forward across the ground. He could feel Ahsoka at his right, Rex at his left, the rest of his men spreading out all around him.

There were Separatists out there, in front of them. It was Anakin’s job to keep them focused, to give them a nice, large target to focus on, so Qui-Gon could take them by surprise. At the moment, Anakin looked forward to cutting some droids to pieces. He slid his lightsaber into his hand, moving forward.

It wasn’t hard to find a fight. He pushed into the nearest swarm of droids, pulling the Force around him and pushing everything else away. He knew he was leaving Ahsoka behind, but she’d be fine. She was a smart girl. She knew how to stay alive on a field of battle. 

Besides, if the entire army was trying to kill  _ him _ , no one would be taking pot-shots at her. He knew there was a plan and that he was doing a poor job of following it, but couldn’t quite bring himself to care. No one could argue that he wasn’t getting the Separatists’ attention, in any case.

#

General Jinn lived, that much was lucky. It was about the only piece of good fortune Cody could find, looking over their wrecked landing craft. He could see a few other downed ships, in the distance. Smoke was rising from some of them. Blaster fire echoed from their general direction. So the Separatists weren’t content just to shoot them down.

He twisted his mouth and turned away from the downed crafts. There was nothing he could do for those men. They still had their orders, though he wasn’t sure how they’d be able to carry them out with the number of troopers who’d survived landfall. He could only hope more found their way to the drop zone, and with a quickness.

Until and up to that point, it was up to them.

He looked over the troops who remained and nodded Boil over. He turned back to General Jinn, currently frowning at him mightily as a field medic saw to the wounds under his robes. He said, “Boil and his men will get you to some cover, sir.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Jinn said, shaking his head and barely wincing with it. “Let Specs finish his work and I’ll come with you.”

Cody grimaced. Technically, they weren’t supposed to disagree with the Generals. But, technically, they were also supposed to do their best to see that missions in the field succeeded. Sometimes, there was no way to complete both those tasks. He adjusted his weight, hearing more blaster fire. “Specs says you’re bleeding inside, sir. We need to move fast. General Skywalker’s men are counting on us.”

He let Jinn put the rest together, watching the General’s scowl deepen as he said, “You need someone sensitive to the Force. The tunnels will be a labyrinth if you don’t have help.”

“They’ll have me,” Once said, his own expression set with concentration. He had a hand on Jinn’s shoulder, doing Force knew what. It seemed to be helping, or at least it did until Jinn’s color got abruptly worse.

He turned, reaching up to grab Once’s wrist. “No,” he said, “that’s--”

“You can’t go,” Once said, calmly. “Someone needs to. We don’t have time to wait for you to recover, do we, Commander?” He glanced up at Cody, and there was strain around his eyes, a tightness to his mouth.

He knew, without even having to think about it, that General Jinn would want Once to stay by his side. He’d gone out of his way to make sure that happened in every fight they got into, after all. But, at the same time, Once was currently the only person they had even remotely capable of accessing the Force. He’d be able to tell them if they got too close to droids. Might even be able to help them with directions, if they lost their way in the caves.

Cody’d had strategies for victory hammered into his head from before he could walk. He knew better than to leave an asset like Once sitting in a hole somewhere, guarding a man who might very well die anyway.

And, if he didn’t really care for the idea of leaving Once with a handful of other soldiers, when they might be come upon by Separatist troops at any moment and impossibly out-numbered, well. He didn’t like the idea of leaving  _ any  _ of his men in that situation. But they couldn’t bring Jinn with them. He’d slow them down too much and moving him through the mines would probably kill him.

“We’re already behind schedule.” Cody glanced around. And waiting here made them sitting ducks. He’d like to put some distance between them and the downed craft as quickly as possible.

Jinn took a moment to say anything. He looked shocky. That internal bleeding might be worse than Specs had thought, but finally he nodded. “Of course,” he said, and he looked fond and pained, mixed together, when he looked at Once. He released Once’s wrist, patted his cheek, and then nodded. “I’m sure you’ll see them through.”

Once nodded and stood. “I will, General.” He hesitated for a moment, before turning on his heel.

Cody moved to follow - the rest of them were long ready to move out - and the General said, “Commander, a word.” Cody exchanged a glance with Specs, who shrugged. Cody moved closer, sinking to his haunches to get on a level with the General. His mouth was pressed thin and his cheeks had gone grey, but his grip was strong when he reached out and grabbed Cody’s forearm, squeezing. “You’ll keep an eye on him.” It sounded like an order.

“I will, sir.” Jinn stared at him and nodded, finally, releasing his hold. Cody rose to his feet, jerking his chin at Boil. “Get him out of here. Find some cover and hole up into evac shows up, understood?” Boil nodded, glancing back at the General. 

“When are we leaving?” Once asked, coming to stand at Cody’s right. He’d bashed his head against something on the way down. There was a bruise forming along the side of his cheek. But he seemed alright, other than that. 

“Now,” Cody said, nodding a goodbye to Boil and shouldering his blaster. “We go fast. Keep comms silent. Eyes open for any troopers who might be joining us. If the Separatists find us, take care of them  _ quietly _ . We don’t need to bring down the whole army.” The arrayed troopers nodded. Cody pulled on his helmet and led the way away from the crash site.

#

In the end, they found the entrances to the caves right where intel had said they would be. Cody waved two troopers in to scout them. They’d been joined by almost a full platoon by the time they reached the cave system. Nowhere near enough, but… Better than they might have had to work with. Once rested a hand against the stone and reached out with the Force; he didn’t feel any of the minds he associated with the Separatists close by. 

It was more difficult to sense the droids. As near as he could tell, there weren’t any of them around either. He drew back his hand, taking a breath and looking over the men. They were busy checking their blasters, adjusting armor, or taking a quick drink. They felt calm. They’d been through things worse than this, he sensed. This was just… one more nightmare scenario, no big deal. He drew their calm in and pulled it close.

Beyond them, he felt General Jinn. He hadn’t died, in fact his presence in the Force felt stable enough. Once drew his senses back when the Commander bumped his shoulder. “We’re heading in,” the Commander said, gesturing at the tunnels. “We need you to take point. You’re going to be the only one of us that can see more than a few feet. Keep an eye out for  _ anything _ , alright?”

Once nodded. This was more what he’d expected, back on Kamino. They’d all been told that they’d work closely with the Type 1s, supplement their abilities. Help them execute missions more effectively. It felt… right, to slip forward into the dark, using his senses to keep them safe from harm they might otherwise be unable to predict.

The tunnels were cool. The entire planet had a chill to the air, but it worsened as they moved beneath the earth. The earthen walls around them ran with moisture, slick to the touch. It wasn’t water, the liquid felt too greasy for that. It stuck to fingers and smeared across skin. It had an unpleasant odor. It gathered underfoot, as well, clinging to the tread of their boots, making the steep decline precarious.

They moved more slowly than Once wanted, but not everyone could catch themselves with the Force if they started to tumble. They moved in triple-file as the tunnels widened out. 

There was… nothing much to look at, down in the ground. Just carved rock faces. These tunnels didn’t appear to be natural and whoever had made them had displayed no great artistic talent. They existed just to serve a purpose, to take people down, down into the planet, though their reports had said they seemed to extend  _ below  _ the depth where the mineral had been located.

That served their purpose. They planned to come up from below, routing any Separatists in the mines proper. It still made Once wonder. What could have been down below the mines that anyone wanted to access in the first place? Why go to all this effort to get there? And why then  _ stop using all of it _ ? The planet wasn’t even currently inhabited.

Hours passed with no answers to any of his questions. Time slipped away, hard to track in the quiet. It was monotonous, until it started getting darker. Which… shouldn’t have been possible. They were using night vision, though it didn’t work very well, impacted by something in the stone. There was no way their power sources should have been winding down already, but Once couldn’t dismiss the fact that his range of vision - already reduced - was getting smaller.

Once’s breath hung in the air in front of him. He sensed… nothing that felt familiar out there. He felt nothing at all, in fact. Not even the small life of insects, the tiny glimmer of lichens and molds that grew in places like this. 

“Lieutenant-Commander?” He half-turned, catching sight of the Commander. He hadn’t realized he’d hesitated, stopping in the middle of the path. “Everything alright?”

Once meant to say “yes.” After all, nothing was wrong. Plenty of places had no life at all, didn’t they? Surely that was so. But the hair on the back of his neck was standing up. He said, tilting his head to the side, “I think--”

And something moved, behind the Commander, peeling away from the wall, all legs and strange, jerky movements, reaching for him. Once responded without thought, grabbing the Commander’s armor and yanking him sideways, shoving at the thing with the Force. Behind him, a trooper yelled. Blaster fire echoed terribly loud through the tunnel.

The thing collapsed down, falling into a heap, and it was only then that Once realized how large it was. How many limbs it had. He took in the sharpness of the hooked claws at the end of those limbs. The thing had no eyes that he could see, but plenty of teeth. And when it had moved, he had  _ felt  _ it, cold and alien, pressing at his thoughts.

“What was--” the Commander started, and Once grabbed his arm, mind blossoming with a sudden terrible awareness as around them the world stirred to life, awoken by the noise of the blaster, the smell of their breath, and their living warmth.

“There are more,” Once said, feeling minds on top of minds, realizing, for the first time, that they were in a warren, full of tunnels, with each tunnel full of hungry beings, asleep for so long, hungry for so much longer, becoming aware, finally, that their prey creatures had returned. 

The Commander stiffened. “Where?”

Once swallowed. “Everywhere.” He glanced back, and there was movement, in the tunnel they’d traveled down, things dropping down from the ceiling, moving closer. “We need to move! Now!”

But the screaming had already started by then. The screaming and the blaster fire and the dying. It followed them as they charged down the tunnel, further into the dark.

#

The battle took all of Ben’s concentration. He stopped thinking about Once or impossible Jedi Generals. There was only the next target, adjusting the plan to keep as many of their men alive as possible, and working always towards their objective.

He knew Once was still alive; he felt it when his brothers died. Which meant that there was still a chance they could pull this all off. He kept that in mind, a thin sliver of hope, as the battle stretched onward. They managed to take control of the surface fortifications, but most of the Separatists were holed up in the mines, where they had plenty of cover and places to hide.

Spreading out and down into the mines to clear them out could take weeks. Of course, General Jinn was supposed to be flushing them  _ upwards _ , but that hadn’t happened yet. 

They should have, ideally, had a discussion on how long they ought to wait for Jinn to route them out. Instead, Skywalker had charged inward, as though intent on clearing the complex himself. He’d been furious all battle, anger filling up the connection between them. At least it made him easy to keep track of, even if it made him far less cautious than he should have been.

Ben worked to keep a squad with him, just in case. It was his job to keep his General alive in the field. No one had ever said it was going to be easy to accomplish. He thought, sometimes, about his poor luck in getting assigned to the Jedi everyone said was the Chosen One. Surely, most of his brothers were having an easier time getting their Generals to listen and behave.

He split his time between monitoring the battlefield, watching Skywalker’s back, and keeping an eye on Ahsoka. He was managing just fine, even, until he took a step and something  _ pulled  _ at him. Once’s mind was familiar. 

So was his sudden desperation.

Ben had a sense of… many hungry mouths in darkness. Unseen and swarming. Once  _ needed _ , that much managed to come through. He needed assistance, and not the kind that could be offered by a lightsaber or a blaster. Ben gave it, gladly. 

There was no pit of darkness to fall into, this time, though the world got blurrier and spots swam across Ben’s vision as Once pulled on him. If there was a medic around, no doubt Ben’s neurotransmitters would be spiking. All the more reason he needed to stay close to Skywalker. The General leveled him out, somehow.

Ben gave what he could, losing some of his awareness of the blaster bolts shooting around them, the troopers moving beside him, Ahsoka, and Skywalker. His awareness of the Force felt muted, almost as though it had been packed away, to a place where he couldn’t quite reach it. He stumbled a step, ears ringing, the world suddenly less vibrant, and kept going.

He could still fight like this. All the Type 1s fought like this, without the world all lit up by the Force. Besides, he could still feel his connection to Skywalker. It drew him forward, allowing him to keep pace with Skywalker, relying on muscle memory and years of combat training to carry him through. But he couldn’t deflect blaster bolts with a saber, not with Once using his connection to the Force. He couldn’t sense the ambush that Skywalker eventually charged them both into.

Droids closed on them from all directions. Ben carved up those he could, limited perception turned towards the fight. Skywalker spun, expression twisted in a grimace, and cut down two. He blocked shots from three more, moving in the middle of the hall like some kind of dancer, all fluid motion and beauty. 

It wasn’t, Ben noticed, going to do anything to stop the droid he had yet to notice from putting a bolt right through him.

Ben reached out to the droid automatically with the Force, but there was nothing there to answer him. He felt Once respond to him, trying to let some of their shared power go, but it would have been too late. Ben saw that; he didn’t need the Force to make it evident. 

So he grabbed Skywalker’s shoulder. He didn’t need the Force to do that. He used Skywalker’s movement to pull him back, sweeping a leg. Skywalker looked wide-eyed, offended, in the brief glance Ben had of his face as he went down. And then his mind caught up to the fact that he’d heard a blaster shot, two, in fact, and that his chest was nothing but pain.

He blinked down, down at his chest. His robes were smoking, faintly. He said, “Well,” and Skywalker cursed, loud and angry, somehow grabbing Ben before he hit the ground. There was the crunch of metal from somewhere far away. The retort of Republic blasters. Ahsoka’s high-pitched voice. Ben stared up at the ceiling for a moment, coughed, and stopped trying to fight the darkness attempting to pull him down.   
#

There were too many of them. And it was too dark. The creatures moved around in the blackness of the mines, chittering and hissing, completely obscured until they fell down from above or lunged in from the side. Cody cursed again, half-blinded by blaster bolts through his infrared goggles, listening to his men die all around. This kriffing mission--

Once drew to a sudden stop in front of him, so abrupt that Cody walked into his back, swearing again as Once sank down. “Are you alright? What’s—”

“Quiet,” Once bit out, “Quiet, I need…” he trailed off and Cody barked an order for everyone to stop, huddling down close to him, feeling the hair on the back of his neck rise as things moved out there around them, unseen threats.

“Commander…” one of the men started, his voice cracking. They were brave, all of them, but bravery only took you so far in the dark, surrounded by monsters, and no longer fleeing for the surface. Cody swallowed, reaching out to grip Once’s shoulder in the darkness and preparing to speak.

A pressure against his mind strangled the words in his throat. He flinched. It felt like a headache, sharp and sudden in his temples, like a tendril of something foreign entering his mind, and—

“Don’t fight me,” Once said, his voice echoing strangely and stilted, as though speaking cost him dearly. “I can. Sense them. Let me. Show them to you.” The instructions were less than clear, but Cody didn’t know what else to do but try to follow them. He purposefully relaxed, trying to ease away the full body flinch and the headache rushed through his mind, overwhelmingly painful and—

And then dissipating. He blinked, the sudden absence of the pain almost shocking. He shook his head and reeled for a moment at the strange sensations that echoed up through his senses. He could… feel something. Many somethings, out in the darkness. They felt hungry. And angry. Like spots of heat and hatred, swarming all around them.

He shifted the aim of his rifle automatically as one lunged towards them, pulled the trigger, and felt it disappear. The sudden absence turned his stomach. He’d never felt something die before. It made the gorge rise in his throat, but he swallowed it down.

Around him, his men were taking shots as well, all touched, he supposed, by whatever Once had done. Once remained on the ground, and Cody could feel him, as well, though only with effort. He felt cold and far away. Like a shut door with the abyss of space hiding behind the metal.

Cody shook that thought away. “We need to move,” he said, hearing his voice echo strangely back at him a dozen times and shivering. He didn’t need verbal confirmation of the order. He felt  _ that  _ to, understanding and agreement sleeting directly into his head as the men in the lead began moving forward, picking off monsters as they went.

Once did not rise. Cody thought he probably couldn’t. He swore again, ignoring the echoes, shouldered his rifle, and bent to lift Once. He sprawled insensate when Cody lifted him, his head lolling on Cody’s shoulder, the closeness taking away some of the cold distance and sending a fission of pain up through Cody’s spine.

Not his pain, he understood as he took a step forward. It was a secondhand sensation, leaked out through their contact, a reflection of whatever was going on inside Once’s head as they moved through the caverns, picking off the beasts around them as they went, moving towards a larger batch of living energy, up above, out of the caves.

Cody lost track of time, in that desperate rush through the underground. It seemed… important that they get out quickly, despite the fact that they could now sense what they were fighting. They all felt the same pressure to rush forward, a sense that if they did not move quickly something bad would happen, they wouldn’t be able to keep this up much longer, already the pain was—

Cody did not realize that he was picking up thoughts that were not his own until they finally stumbled out into an area made of metal, an area full of battle droids and Separatists troops, a  _ normal  _ area all in a rush and he thought, with stunning clarity,  _ oh, finally _ , and the anchor in his head abruptly fell away.

He stumbled in its absence, as though the world had moved underfoot. So did the rest of his men. One fell over completely, barely managing to catch himself before he hit the ground face-first. In Cody’s arms, Once gave a little sigh and went limp. Cody looked down at him, blinking, getting used to the emptiness inside his head, and found Once’s face pale, blood trickling from his nose to smear on Cody’s white armor.

There was no time to consider that. Not with the droids turning on them, blasters whining up to full charge. Cody didn’t need to give orders in that moment. His men knew how to kill droids, how to take them apart. They pushed forward. He hoped that, somewhere up above, General Skywalker was pushing them the other way.

#

Ben was bleeding out against his side. Anakin knew kriffing well enough he had other things to focus on, like the droids he’d just thrown against the stone walls, like all their backup, just waiting to charge forward, but there was blood soaking into his robes and he was having a difficult time caring about anything else.

Ben had already passed out; still alive, still alive, Anakin still felt him. He looked dead, for all of that. His eyes were closed, his face gone pale. It was horrific, how closely he matched Anakin’s last memories of Obi-Wan in that moment. It was shocking enough that Anakin released him, letting him slump to the ground, and scrambled up to take a half-step back.

There were footsteps marching closer. Droids. Anakin was supposed to be pushing through them with an army. He shook his head, reaching out to Ahsoka through the Force and finding her close. “Stabilize the Lieutenant-Commander,” he barked, feeling her approaching at a run; he’d cleared the way. He spun his lightsaber and stepped to provide her cover.

“Sithspit!” Ahsoka hissed from somewhere behind him. He listened to fabric tear. Smelled the horrible field bacta they used to dress wounds quickly. He didn’t look over, not even when she yelled, “What happened?” He focused on deflecting back bolts, pushing the droids to pieces with the help of the troopers flooding in around Ahsoka.

He could still feel Ben’s hand around his shoulder, strong and capable, pulling him back without even a tremble of hesitation in his grip. Those blaster bolts had been meant for Anakin. The knowledge beat at the sides of his head with each hall they took, each level they cleared. The shots had been meant to end  _ him _ , and instead Ben, who he’d not even been able to wish good luck earlier, had taken them both.

Anakin’s jaw throbbed, his teeth ached. His breath burned in his lungs. He marched grimly through the mines, barely even noticing as the droids coming at them became disordered and panicked. It was disorienting to carve a droideka down the middle, step forward, and find nothing waiting for him but more troopers, wearing Qui-Gon’s colors.

Anakin stared at them for a moment, breathing hard. Adrenaline was burning through his bones. He was exhausted and he still wanted to kill something, full of anger that licked it’s way up into his thoughts and then guttered out, terribly, as Commander Cody stepped to the front of the lines.

He was carrying Once over his shoulders, the clone terribly limp, his head tilted at a horrible angle, blood smeared across his face. His arms hung, his fingers curled up towards the palm, and he looked just like Ben. Just like Ben who Anakin had left dying, levels and levels above.

“Sir,” Cody said, his helmet gone, strange gouges covering his armor, “he needs help, where are the lines?”

Anakin blinked, shaking his head, trying to clear the strange fog in his thoughts. He waved a hand at his back. “You’ve found them,” he said, and his voice sounded hollow in his ears as the anger drained out of him all at once. It left him feeling cold, emptied out.

Cody jerked out a nod, moving past him. Once really  _ did  _ look like Obi-Wan, more than Ben did. Anakin’s gorge rose in his throat. He felt like a little boy again, helpless, landing from what he’d thought was a victory to find his new friends all swallowed by grief, one of them sprawled out and still and pale.

He reached out and braced a hand against the wall. When that felt insufficient he slumped over until his shoulder rested against it, fighting the nausea in his gut and the tightness around his ribs. It took a moment to master it, to force it  _ down _ , and then he reached out and grabbed one of the passing troopers to ask, “Hey, where’s General Jinn?”

#

Ahsoka was worried about Anakin. It wasn’t the first time she’d engaged in that particular pastime. She was  _ used  _ to worrying about him. 

Ahsoka had reason to worry, she thought, watching Anakin on the transport back to the  _ Resolute _ . He just… sat there. Staring forward, not looking at anything she could see. He was leaning forward a bit, so his elbows rested on his knees, and his hands were hanging down. His fingers were bloody. His knuckles were battered, like he’d resorted to punching a few droids. His jaw was locked up tight. 

“Master?” she asked, carefully, shifting over to sit beside him. One of his hands twitched, just a little. “Skyguy?”

He shifted his head to look at her. She almost wished she hadn’t said anything. But General Jinn had already been taken back to the  _ Fallen Star  _ for treatment. Ben had been taken up ahead of them to the  _ Resolute _ . Ahsoka had seen to that, while she waited for Anakin. And the other clone had been hurt, as well. There was just her left, to look after him.

She wasn’t sure what was wrong with Anakin, but she felt like the last Jedi standing. That made him her responsibility, in a way. “You want to talk about it?” she asked, picking at a frayed seam on her skirt. 

He shook his head, then reached up and rubbed at his face. “You’re alright, aren’t you, Snips?” he asked, though his tone stayed strange and odd.

“Yeah,” she said, and he didn’t call her on the lie. “Yeah, just glad we all made it through. I heard from some of the 212th that there were monsters down there, in the mines?”

“Oh?” Anakin asked, and Ahsoka made conversation about what she had heard all the way back to the  _ Resolute _ . She followed him through requesting a report on General Jinn’s status - currently recovering well - and a debrief about the mission, until he took a breath and turned towards their infirmary with a determined look on his face.

She would have followed him there, as well, if he hadn’t hesitated and said, “You should get some rest, Snips.”

She stood in the hall, after he left, arms folded around her chest. She wished she knew what he was feeling, but she couldn’t get a clear read on the whole of it. He was angry, she knew that much. But she didn’t know why. And there was so much more than anger there.

She shook her head and turned on her heel. 

She needed something to keep her busy, in the strange atmosphere of the ship. She thought of the conversation she’d had with Anakin, days ago, about the origin of the Type 2 clones, and shrugged. She probably wouldn’t find anything, digging through old databanks, but it would give her something to fill the time in the coming days.

#

Anakin stood outside the infirmary door for a long moment, flexing his hands in and out, in and out. He was still wearing bloody robes. None of the blood was his. He almost turned, but he’d never been a coward, for all the Council worried he would give into fear. He lifted his chin, squared his shoulders, and entered the med bay.

Plenty of the beds were full. Medics and droids were busy treating troopers, getting them squared away after the battle. The bacta tanks along the far wall were all full. It had been brutal, down on the planet, Anakin was only just beginning to realize. He strode forward, waving aside the medic who moved to check on him, gazing at wounded troopers, his men, floating and helpless, and coming to a stop in front of Ben.

He looked smaller than the Type 1s. His copper hair caught the light oddly in the tank. There were two holes punched through him. They should have, by all rights, been in Anakin’s back, though he liked to think he would have been able to block at least one of them. 

He shook the reflexive thought away. What did it  _ matter _ ? He’d made it to the bottom of the mine first, and Qui-Gon hadn’t even been there to see it. He’d plunged onward, they’d won the day, and for their trouble his medbay was full of the injured and  _ Ben  _ certainly didn’t look like he realized Anakin had  _ won _ .

Of course, Ben hadn’t even known there was a competition. How could he, when Anakin kept getting caught up in trying to best a dead man who happened to look just like Ben? 

“Sir?” one of the medics asked, approaching him slowly. “Are you--”

“I’m fine,” Anakin said. He was tired, bone-weary, but that would sort itself out. He’d taken no major injuries. 

The medic didn’t interrogate him further; no doubt there were enough people in actual need of healing. Anakin crossed his arms and frowned at the row of bacta tanks, a knot in his stomach that he could not pick apart. He ignored the burn of exhaustion in his eyes and the ache in the back of his neck, the quiet that fell over the medbay as the hours passed, and clenched his teeth tight, relishing in the ache.

He deserved it.

#

The medics were all too professional to panic when they didn’t know what was wrong. Cody appreciated that, after he carried Once into the medbay and put him on the closest table. He still wasn’t moving under his own power. He’d been limp, dead weight all the way up out of the mines, the transport ride, and Cody’s grim march through the  _ Fallen Star _ .

His eyes were rolled back, when one of the medics pulled an eyelid down. There was dried blood under his nose and a bit by his ears. Whatever he’d done, however he’d reached out and kept them all alive down there, it had cost him. 

Cody wasn’t sure Once was the  _ only  _ one who had taken a cost. His head felt strange. He kept catching flashes of bright light out of the corners of his eyes,  _ sure  _ that there was movement away to his left. Every time he looked, though, there was nothing there at all. And he swore he heard his radio, a transmission so garbled he couldn’t make it out. He pulled it from his ear, eventually, but the transmission kept echoing.

He shook his head to clear it, with somewhat limited success. Maybe he’d taken a knock on the head. Their rush through the tunnels had been madcap and relentless. Trying to form clear memories of exactly what they had done, down there in the darkness, was a fool’s errand, and not one he could afford to indulge in, especially not with General Jinn approaching from the side, leaning heavily on a cane, demanding, “What happened?”

Cody tried to find words for it once more and failed. “I’m not sure, sir. We were in the tunnels and there were things down there. Things we couldn’t see, until he let us see them. Somehow.”

He got the feeling that the General wasn’t listening to his explanation all that carefully. Jinn reached the bed and stared down, all the color drained from his face. He looked like he’d seen a ghost. He leaned over, curling his fingers over one of Once’s hands. Cody felt compelled to say something to fill the silence, to break the sensation that he was seeing something private, “He saved our lives, sir, whatever he did.”

Jinn made a tight little sound, clearing his throat. His eyes squeezed shut. “He’s always saved everyone,” Jinn said. “And never worried about saving himself.” Cody stared at him. He couldn’t  _ disagree  _ with that assessment, really, not after what had happened on the planet. Jinn shook his head, slowly. “I can’t let it happen again.”

“Sir?” Cody was increasingly sure Jinn wasn’t really talking to him. He just happened to be there, close enough to overhear. 

Jinn confirmed that idea, placing his palm over Once’s forehead and saying, quietly, “You are dismissed, Commander. I’ll make sure he recovers.”

Cody nodded, though Jinn wasn’t looking at him. He cast another look at Once, limp and still under the hands of the medics, and strode from the room. He’d check by again later, just to make sure both the General and Once were alright, and to see if Jinn’s strange mood had passed.

#

Cody didn’t make it back to the medbay again for almost twelve hours. The Council wanted a fast debrief and had no one to give it to them but him. There was a problem with one of the  _ Fallen Star’s  _ engines, they were given orders to haul ass to the Rim, and, ontop of all of it, he’d needed to pass out, at least for an hour or two.

By the time he made it back, his head felt better, at the very least. General Jinn was still watching over Once, who had not awoken. He didn’t look like he wanted company. Plenty of his brothers were still on their cots. Cody checked on them, briefly.

He stopped by the infirmary a few times a day cycle, just to keep an eye on the injured. Jinn didn’t look like the stay was improving his health. He just looked tired and hunched, small in a way Cody wasn’t used to seeing him. Three days passed like that, everyone on the ship responding to the strange energy Jinn was projecting out.

Cody scrubbed at his face the third night, thinking that he was going to have to do something about it in the morning, and crawled into his bunk. He didn’t get nearly enough time to rest before his radio went off. It wasn’t the first time he got woken up in the middle of the night since he’d been deployed, but it was the first time Once’s voice was the one to wake him. “Commander,” he said, while Cody was still lurching into wakefulness, “could you come to my quarters, please?”

That woke Cody up with a quickness. He all but hummed under his skin, glad to hear that Once was well, of course, and hung up completely on the idea of going to his quarters. He kept waiting for the request to be rescinded, the entire way, but such a dismissal never came. He received no other communications at all, until he found Once standing outside of his quarters, arms crossed and chin down.  He was dressed and looked in order, some of his color had even come back, but Cody couldn’t stop picturing the way he’d looked at the bottom of the mine, corpse pale and barely breathing. He shook himself.

“Hey, should you be up and about?” Cody reached out to steady Once as he approached. He did not look as though he should have been released from the med-bay yet. There were dark circles under his eyes and a terrible hollowness to his cheeks.

Once shook his head, dismissing the question with a little wave of his hand, finally activating the door scanner. Cody frowned and followed him into his quarters, keeping his hand on Once’s arm, just in case. Once said nothing until the door shut behind them, closing them into the small, quiet space of his quarters. When he spoke he sounded grim and determined, “I need to look in your mind again, Commander.”

Cody blinked across at him. He said, frowning, “Why?”

Once stared over at the far wall, over Cody’s shoulder. He looked unwell and the set of his jaw spoke of some great trouble weighing on his mind. “Because I… when I connected us on the planet. I felt,” he gestured, frustration in the movement, “something.” He wrinkled his nose up, his expression twisting into a grimace. “Something foreign.”

Cody stared at him. This conversation had taken several turns he’d not prepared for. He’d half-thought, when Once asked him by in the middle of the night… Well, he’d entertained ideas that only made sense when considering that he’d been half-asleep, still. He said, shaking his head, as something twisting unpleasantly in his stomach, “Something foreign  _ in my mind _ ?” He heard the horror in his own voice.

Once nodded, grim, and finally met his eyes, but only for a second before his gaze shifted once more. “Yes,” he said.

Thoughts cascaded through Cody’s mind, possibilities streaming out before him, the way they did on a battlefield. He knew Once’s expressions now, well enough to read them. He tightened his grip on Once’s arm, needing the stability and the proof that Once would not merely be able to turn and walk away from him, “Not just my mind?”

Once flinched and then nodded. “Not just yours,” he confirmed. “All of your brothers, too.”

“Sithspit,” Cody hissed, turning aside to pace. Something in his mind. Something foreign. But Once could be wrong. Things on the planet had been mad. And Cody’d never heard of any Jedi doing what he’d done. “Are you sure?”

Once stared with his head cocked to the side. He said, “I’d like to be wrong. That’s why I want to check.”

Denial tried to curl around Cody’s ribs. He wanted to protest, to rage that of course there was nothing in his mind that ought not be. But why would Once lie about it? He blew out a breath and nodded. “Alright,” he said. “Do it.” He looked around the room and found nowhere to sit but the bunk. Something about sitting there made his ears heat, so he looked helplessly back at Once. “Should I…?”

“Here will work,” Once said, stepping up to him and raising his hands, one on each side of Cody’s head, not quite touching to skin. “Relax. Let me in.” Once bowed his head over, hiding all but the furrow of his brow and, after a moment, Cody felt the brush of his mind. It did not feel so strange this time as it had on the planet. Once had more time to work, to gentle his touch, perhaps. Or maybe Cody’d just got used to feeling him there, inside his thoughts.

It felt… almost nice, really. Soothing. Some of the tension drained from Cody’s shoulders automatically, leaving him to exhale a shaky breath as a sensation that reminded him of warmth drifted across his thoughts. He swayed without intention, and Once’s palms pressed to his temples, fingers curling against his skull, stabilizing him.

He drifted, distracted by the sensation, chasing the brief snatches he caught of determination and worry that did not feel like his own, and startled when Once recoiled back, tearing his hands away with a little cry. Once’s color looked worse, if that were possible, and he stared with wide, shining eyes at Cody, panting.

Cody blinked away the foggy feeling inside his head, reading all the explanation he needed in Once’s expression. “You found it,” he said, testing the weight of the words. “There is something in my head, isn’t there?”

Once nodded, holding the back of his hand against his mouth. “Yes,” he said, the word dragged out of his throat.

Nausea swarmed up through Cody’s throat. “What is it?” He needed to know, suddenly. An unfamiliar tang of some sharp emotion ran down his throat. Fear. He had not known he could feel that emotion, not until recently, when he’d thought Once would die, back on the planet. “How do we remove it?”

Once swallowed heavily. “I don’t know what it is.” He stepped forward again, frowning at Cody’s head. “It feels…” He sketched a shape in the air with his hands. “Mechanical. Dark.”

“Mechanical,” Cody echoed, shuddering. 

Once nodded. “And inactive, I think. Dormant.”

“Can you turn it on?” Cody asked, but even as he asked the question a feeling of dread flooded into his guts. He had, for a moment, a rush of cool certainty in his mind, an echo of orders he could not quite make out that made his trigger finger twitch, the ones he’d been hearing off-and-on for three days, and he stopped trying to push at the  _ thing  _ with a shudder of revulsion.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Once said, and Cody barked a sharp laugh.

“No,” he said. “I don’t either.” He worked his jaw side-to-side. “Take it out.”

Once froze, the unnatural stillness moving over him in a rush. He said, carefully, “We don’t know what it’s for. It might… I don’t know. Do something important. And it’s in the middle of your brain. I can set up a surgery, but, Commander, such a procedure would be terribly risky. You could, the doctors could easily—” 

“Then destroy it. Use the Force. If you can feel it, you must be able to crush it.”

Once stared at him, wide-eyed. “No. I could kill you, Commander. We should—”

Cody reached out and snagged his arm as he moved by, holding him in place, ignoring the little sound of surprise that escaped Once’s throat. “There’s something in my brain,” he ground out, trying to keep a handle on the hot fear pooling in his chest. “Something that feels Dark to you. Something that you felt in my brothers, too, Once. Who do you think put it there?”

Once shuddered, looking up at him with wide, wide eyes, so stunningly blue. He said, quietly, with a cautious look around, as though someone could have possibly snuck into the quarters, “The Kaminoans.”

“It had to be,” Cody agreed. “So, I don’t think they’re going to give us information. Not the truth, anyway. And…” Cody trailed off. The thought that had occurred to him felt too terrible to speak into the air. 

Once glanced up at him. “What?”

“And this war has been going on for almost two years,” he said, carefully. “There are millions of my brothers out in the galaxy. And no one ever said anything about the mechanical thing in our heads. Not ever. It’s not something they want anyone to know about.”

He watched Once absorb that information. “You think they’ll try to keep it quiet, if we say something.” 

“I think this is a big secret,” Cody said. “No one likes it when their big secrets come out.”

Once stared hard at him for a moment, maybe looking directly into his mind, and then nodded. “Very well,” he said. “We can try to get rid of it. I left General Jinn resting, but when he wakes, he can—”

“No.” Cody squeezed his arm. “I don’t want him to do it.”

Once flustered. “He’s a Jedi Master. He has decades of experience. If anyone can destroy this thing, it’ll be him. And even if he can’t, perhaps he can tell us more about it.”

Cody let him finish and then shook his head. Everything seemed sharp and clear and obvious. He knew part of that was exhaustion running away with him, making all his choices seem simple and well-defined. “I don’t want him to do it. If anyone is going to be crawling around in my head, it’s going to be you.” Once’s ears stained interestingly with color and Cody risked a grin, feeling almost punch-drunk with the decision, with exhaustion, with fear. It felt like they were tumbling down a cliff. “I trust you,” he said. “And I’m already used to you digging around up there.”

“Maybe you should sleep on it, we can—” 

“Once, there’s something in my head that feels  _ Dark  _ to you. I’m not going to be able to sleep, knowing it’s there. Who knows what it does? Or when it will do it. Please.” He gestured at his temple, knowing waiting might have been smarter, but unable to swallow the idea of it. “Just… just get it out of there.”

For a moment, he thought Once would protest again. Certainly, Once looked miserable at the idea. But he nodded, grimly, and waved Cody over to his cot. “Lie down,” he said. “I have no idea what this will do to you.”

Cody tensed, his stomach doing something strange at the thought of sitting on Once’s bed, even in the midst of the tight panic crawling around inside his skin. He pushed that reaction to the side and sat, marshalling his courage to spread out onto his back. Once sat beside him, his hip pressing against Cody’s side, and wetted his lips, which only increased the conflicting emotional responses raging around Cody’s head.

“Alright,” Once said, flexing his fingers in and out and then leaning over. He rested one palm against Cody’s forehead and closed his eyes. The slide in, the connection, whatever they would call it, formed easier. Cody sighed, hearing the sound from far away, as warmth washed down over him, soothing some of his nerves.

“There,” Once breathed after a moment, drawing his hand off of Cody’s forehead and leaning forward over his knees. He was breathing hard, and sweat colored the hair at his temples. Cody blinked, pushing up onto his elbows. He felt… unchanged.

“Is it done?” he asked, reaching up to rub at his head.

Once nodded, terribly pale in the harsh lights of his quarters. “Yes,” he said. “It’s gone.” He smiled over, sideways and tired, and the painful awareness that they were sitting on his bed rose back up in Cody’s mind, shouting for his attention. He should scramble up, and he knew it, but he smiled back instead.

“Thank you,” he said, touching Once’s arm.

Once nodded, looking at Cody’s hand. He spoke slowly, “I’ll need to meet with the others. To take care of theirs. Now that I know what I’m doing it should be easier.”

“You should rest first,” Cody said, aware that he was currently in the way of that. His thoughts still felt warm from Once’s presence. And he felt as though a weight had been taken off of him, though the dread of knowing that all his brothers still had the same mechanical thing in their minds would not be shoved to the side. That was a problem that needed addressing. But Once looked like he was going to pass out if he went much further.

Once frowned. “I should—”

His door chimed then. Qui-Gon called from the other side, “Obi-Wan? I heard you left the infirmary. Are you alright?”

Cody sprang off of the cot, patting at his hair, though he knew not why. He caught a brief look at Once’s expression, grim, and then the door was opening and the world lurched it’s way back to normalcy, or something like it.

#

Anakin wasn’t there, when they pulled Ben out of the bacta tank. As Rex had pointed out, twelve hours into his scowling vigil, he actually had a lot of work to do. One thing led to another, led to three more, and while he visited the infirmary a few times, he had not the time to stay. He had no idea that Ben had recovered until his door chimed.

He stretched his senses out towards it, an automatic response, and jerked his head up. He crossed the room in a few quick strides, waving open the door. Ben stood on the other side, in uniform, his hair still a little damp, as though nothing had happened. He smiled at Anakin and said, “Sir, I’m just letting you know that I’ve been released back to duty.”

Anakin stared at him. He was fine, alive, whole. But he’d have scars now, a pair of them on his chest, where he’d saved Anakin’s life. Ben’s smile shrank. He cocked his head to the side. “Sir?”

Anakin stepped back from the door, everything he’d pushed down for the last few days threatening to rise back up once more. He waved a hand, and Ben stepped forward, into the room. “Is something wrong?”

Anakin waved the door closed. Ben glanced at Anakin, at the shut door, and back, arching an eyebrow up. He opened his mouth, and Anakin cut him off. “What did you think you were doing, down on the planet?”

Ben blinked. He shut his mouth and frowned. “You mean when I--”

“When you kriffing took two blaster bolts meant for me, Ben, that’s what I mean.” Anakin hadn’t  _ meant  _ to be angry. He just kept seeing Ben, blood all on the wrong side of his skin, and for  _ Anakin _ , who’d barely been civil to him since he arrived. It didn’t make sense. “What the kriff were you thinking?”

Ben gazed back at him, no answering anger in his expression. Only puzzlement. He said, slowly, “Protecting you is my function, sir--”

“That’s bantha shit,” Anakin snapped, pacing away from him. He needed something to do with his hands, an outlet for the heat cracking through him. “It’s not your job to take a blaster for me, Ben.” The thought burned bile up the back of his throat. 

Ben sighed, the way he did when he thought Anakin was being stubborn over some part of a battle plan. “General, there are a hundred of me—”

Anakin spun back towards Ben, taking a sharp step towards him, snapping, “There’s only one of you!” 

Ben blinked and shrugged. “Fine,” he said, with a little move of one hand, tilting his chin up to hold Anakin’s gaze as he moved closer. “But if I died, there are a hundred more that can replace me. No one can replace you, they say you’re the Chosen One.  _ I _ don’t matter—”

Anakin grabbed Ben then, overcome with all the dangerous emotion that he’d tried to bleed out of his mind in the days Ben hung in the bacta tank. Hearing him say he didn’t matter, after he’d somehow, impossibly, come to matter so much to Anakin, was more than he could be asked to bear. 

Ben’s eyes went wide, as though he were surprised, as though finally, after all the times Anakin had tried to take him unawares when they were sparring,  _ this  _ was what he hadn’t seen coming. Anakin shifted his grip, cupped the side of Ben’s head, leaned down, and kissed him hard, angrily. He felt Ben freeze under the onslaught of it, his mouth still slightly parted from the words he’d been trying to get out.

Anakin pulled back after only a moment, panting, and ground out, “You matter to me.” Ben stared at him, so close that his eyes seemed to make up the entirety of the universe, huge and blue and stunned. His freckles stood stark against the pale skin of his face. His eyes flicked after a moment, down at Anakin’s mouth, growing darker, and he felt the shift of Ben’s emotions, the welcoming curiosity. The hunger.

Ben began to lean forward, and Anakin met him there, kissing him again, soothing the flaring fire in his blood. Ben made a surprised sound against his mouth, hands coming up to grip at him. Ben stumbled back a step and then another. They half-fell against a wall, and Anakin pressed Ben against it, wanting,  _ needing _ , to get closer to him.

For a moment, as Ben reached up, sliding fingers into his hair and holding on, Anakin had a thought of Qui-Gon. He’d disapprove. This was… a breach of all the boundaries he’d ever tried to teach Anakin to stay inside.

But Qui-Gon was hardly following his own rules, these days. Maybe he never had, holding onto his grief for years and years, instead of releasing it to the Force a moving forward. He’d always wanted what he lost, instead of what he had. 

Ben made a little sound, a gasp, when Anakin slid his hands down, grabbing at his overtunic, pulling it off his shoulders. His fingers brushed the outline of a bandage as he jerked the fabric down, and Anakin pulled back, all at once. 

Ben stayed leaning against the wall, breathing hard, color in his cheeks. His hair was a mess, his lips stained red. He was staring at Anakin, head cocked, eyes burning hot. Anakin said, the beginnings of shame crawling up his throat, “You’re still injured, I--”

“I’m fine, sir,” Ben said, even as he grabbed the hem of his black undershirt and pulled it up, all in one long, fluid motion, over his head. He tossed it aside and, yes, there were still bandages on his chest. He had the too-lean look they all had, when they got out of a bacta tank. None of it really seemed to matter.

The “sir” hit Anakin, distracting him for a moment from the lean lines of Ben’s chest, the flat plane of his stomach. He said, thick voiced, “Anakin, call me Anakin.”

Ben grinned at him, sudden and hungry. “Anakin,” he said, taking a step away from the wall, bringing himself within reach of Anakin again. Anakin shivered; his name sounded  _ right  _ on Ben’s mouth. He liked hearing it, hearing it again when he grabbed Ben to touch his skin, pulling him close and taking another kiss. He was alive under Anakin’s hands, alive and strong, pushing into Anakin’s touch, encouraging. Anakin wanted him, wanted to touch him everywhere, wanted to push him back towards the little bunk, and Ben, he realized, with a shock of hot desire that pooled in his gut, Ben was going to let him have exactly what he wanted.

Anakin caught their weight when they tumbled, made their landing something graceful with the blessing of the Force. Ben was pushing Anakin’s tunics up, his hands underneath somehow, hot on Anakin’s chest. Anakin jerked at his clothes, tearing fabric and uncaring with it. He managed to shove the clothes off - he felt like he was burning up - and Ben froze for a moment, staring at him, wide-eyed.

Anakin flushed. He knew he had more scars than most. He knew what his arm looked like. Something cold shifted in him; Ben had been flawless, no wonder he didn’t -- and then Ben was reaching for him, grabbing his shoulders, pulling Anakin down and yanking himself up, until they were pressed together again and,  _ oh _ . 

Anakin was an idiot, sometimes.

He pressed close, both of them falling back to the mattress. There wasn’t really enough room for them both on the bed. There was barely enough room for Anakin. Ben arched up against him, a delicious push of pressure, and Anakin shoved back, the movement of his hips automatic and blindingly good.

Ben was still squirming, shoving at Anakin’s pants, which was, Anakin had to admit, a good idea. Ben always was better at tactical planning. He shifted and kicked them down, Ben lifting his hips up and the sprawl of him across Anakin’s sheets was the best thing Anakin could recall seeing.

Moving to cover him, to kiss him, to press him down into the mattress was the only conceivable thing to be done. They fit together, they fit together  _ perfectly _ , and Anakin swallowed the sounds Ben made, the little noises as they moved against one another, fast and rough and careless.

Anakin wanted to stay in that moment for an eternity, but it couldn’t last. They were both on a knife’s edge, and falling over it felt like a blessing. He panted against Ben’s cheek, overheated and sticky. They were pressed together all down the lengths of their bodies. He could feel Ben’s heart racing. Ben still had a hand, fisted in his hair. He trailed the fingers of his other hand across Anakin’s shoulder, down his arm, and Anakin shivered at the softness of the touch.

He shifted, just a little, just enough to get a good look at Ben, loose-limbed across his sheets. His stomach was wet and smeared up. His chest had flushed red. He looked… thoroughly messy, relaxed, with his eyes half-lidded and his mouth kiss-stung. 

And Anakin wondered, a fleeting thought, barely entertained, what Qui-Gon would have thought upon seeing his apprentice like  _ this _ , knowing Anakin had done it, that he’d  _ wanted  _ Anakin to do it.

Ben stirred on the bed, pushing up onto one elbow and it was ridiculous, the way the movement caught and held Anakin’s attention. “Everything alright?” Ben asked, his voice a rasp, sounding all brand new. 

Anakin shook the thoughts of Qui-Gon aside. This wasn’t about Qui-Gon. Any of it. It wasn’t.

“Yeah,” Anakin said, reaching out, trailing his fingers down the center of Ben’s chest, feeling muscles twitch beneath his touch. “Yeah, everything’s more than alright.” He pushed, and Ben went back to the mattress, his breath coming faster when Anakin followed him down.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One step forward, two steps back...

If asked, Ben wouldn’t have been able to provide an explanation of  _ how _ , exactly, he’d ended up sprawled across Skywalker’s -- Anakin’s -- bunk, on his back, staring up at the ceiling while Anakin held his hips down. Anakin had been angry, furious, and somehow that had translated to the wet slide of his mouth, to the best feeling in the world, as Ben twisted fingers into his hair and tried not to fly apart.

He’d never felt  _ anything  _ even remotely like the way he felt in that moment, suffused with heat and almost drunk with pleasure. He gave a cry, loud and startling, when Anakin lifted his head. He’d been so  _ close _ , almost there, and Anakin was surging up his body, kissing his mouth, wrapping a hand around his cock and panting, “Come on, give it to me.”

And Ben knew how to take orders. 

He felt shaky, in the aftermath, and sticky all over again, breathing against Anakin’s mouth. “You like that?” Anakin asked, nosing back across Ben’s check, to the soft skin behind his ear. “Don’t you?”

Ben managed an affirmative hum. He could only figure, clouded as his mind currently was, that Anakin’s anger had been because he was hurt. It made no sense, really, for Anakin to care about that. But, then, Anakin cared about  _ him _ . He’d said so, and Ben had the proof of it curled around him, holding him, moving to kiss him again, hard and deep.

Anakin shifted, and their bodies aligned. Ben could feel the hard press of Anakin’s cock against his thigh and in his mind, through the connection left by the tether, he could  _ feel  _ all the hunger and want beating through Anakin’s veins with each pump of his heart. It only made sense to shove at him, to push on his shoulder, to pant, “Let me, I want to--”

He pushed an image across the bond, the way he would have done with one of his brothers - though he could not imagine sending such a thought to them - of their positions reversed, of himself, curled between Anakin’s legs. Anakin groaned, grinding down against him. He panted, “Force, yeah,” and shifted, rolling back.

His eyes were dark, darker than Ben had ever seen them, his mouth wet and red. He pulled Ben over, all strong, confident hands, and Ben felt a momentary lack of surety, when faced with the reality of their situation. He’d never done… any of the things they’d done in the watchs of the night.

But Anakin had done this for him and it had felt  _ incredible _ . He glanced up at Anakin through his eyelashes; Anakin was staring at him, utterly intent. A shiver ran down his back and he licked his bottom lip, took a breath, and leaned down.

“Oh, Force,” Anakin gasped above him, muscles in his thighs tightening. He slid his fingers into Ben’s hair and held on, and through the tether, Ben felt what he felt, the electric pleasure of each movement, a charge building higher and higher between them. 

“Force,” Anakin groaned, shifting his grip, pulling Ben a little closer, and he moved his hips unexpectedly. Ben almost choked, surprised, but it felt  _ so good  _ through the tether, a feedback loop of sensation that made it easy to forget that he needed to breathe, that he needed to do anything but this. “Your kriffing  _ mouth _ .”

Ben made a little noise, acknowledgement, and Anakin jerked under him, nerves going white-hot with pleasure that flooded over into Ben. Ben started to pull back at the first burst of wet heat across his tongue, and Anakin groaned, fingers clenched in his hair. Ben swallowed, instead, all Anakin’s feelings inside his head, under his skin, filling him with wants he didn’t know what to do with yet.

Anakin tugged on him, after a moment, pulling him up, up the bed, to kiss him again, sloppy and hungry and good. Ben groaned when Anakin rolled him, settling over him, their bodies fitted together so well.

All Anakin’s emotions felt easier to understand, tangled together on the bunk, his mouth tasting of salt and his jaw aching, just faintly. He could  _ feel  _ how much Anakin wanted him, and he still didn’t understand Anakin’s prior anger. It seemed impossible that he was just… just angry that Ben had been hurt.

He hadn’t expected, really, anyone to care what happened to him one way or another.

He was just a clone.

But all this time, Anakin had wanted him. He’d felt the heat of Anakin’s attention since he arrived on the  _ Resolute.  _ Anakin had wanted to do  _ this  _ with him. And only him, as near as Ben could tell, he hadn’t felt this kind of desire radiating off of Anakin for anyone else. He smiled against Anakin’s mouth, curling an arm around him, relaxing against the tangled sheets.

They did nothing but touch one another, pressed close, until Anakin shifted and said, his voice gone thick and rough, “It’s got to be getting early. Someone’s going to be looking for us soon.”

Ben blinked. It felt like no time at all had passed, but he felt exhausted, as well. It was probably close to the start of first shift. And he was in the General’s quarters, naked. He cursed, softly, and sat up. “I should go,” he said, looking down at his body - covered in marks - and looking around for his clothes. 

“Mm,” Anakin said, shifting up behind him, watching when Ben rose from the bed and grabbed his undershirt, pulling it on. Anakin was still staring as he pulled on his pants. He felt strange, getting dressed while Anakin lay in the ruin of his bed, but they were in  _ Anakin’s  _ quarters. Ben didn’t have quarters of his own. “Ben,” Anakin said, sitting up, dragging a hand back through his hair, grimacing just a little. “What happened - we can’t - no one can -”

“I know, Anakin.” It gave him a sharp thrill, saying Anakin’s name. It hit Anakin, too; he felt the little jolt of interest across their connection. “It’s alright. Don’t worry.” He knew, well enough, that Jedi weren’t supposed to do what they’d just done. They’d made sure all his brothers knew the Jedi code, though they weren’t expected to follow it. They weren’t Jedi. 

But Anakin was. He was, and he’d kissed Ben anyway, taken him to bed, held him close and panted his name like a prayer. He stood, when Ben grabbed his over tunic, and wrapped an arm around him, leaned down to kiss him again. And Ben hadn’t expected any of this, not a single piece of it, but he certainly hadn’t expected to be picked over the Jedi code.

The fact filled him with strange warmth.

He left Anakin’s quarters half in a daze, knowing he needed to clean off. He ached, all over. He should have spent the evening resting, allowing his body to recover further, but he couldn’t regret what he’d done instead. He smiled, to no one but himself, as he walked down the hall. 

He still felt the connection to Anakin, fifteen minutes later, in the showers. He closed his eyes and the anchor was there, in the back of his mind. Anakin felt sleepy, blurry around the ends, and Ben let the water run down over his face, grinning.

#

The medics requested Cody’s presence in the infirmary first-thing in the day-cycle, stirring him from a troubled sleep. He could not help but think of the thing in his head on the long way down to the infirmary. He thought about contacting Once, but some sense of paranoia made him hesitate. If it  _ was  _ about the thing in his head, would they be monitoring his transmissions?

They had only discussed the issue in the quiet of Once’s quarters, face to face, where their conversation could not be listened to. 

Another part of his mind, mocking, insisted he was worrying over nothing. In the end, he went to the infirmary alone, to meet with a confused medic and a pair of med-droids. “Sorry to drag you in, Commander,” the medic said, frowning at the pad in his hand. “Something flagged you in the system. Looks like you’re getting some kind of booster for something you were exposed to down on the planet.” 

Cody looked at the droids, a sense of dread growing in his chest. “Yeah?” he asked. “The rest of the squad down for that, too?”

The medic flipped through a report, frowning. “I’m not seeing them yet. They’ll probably come through with the next batch of orders. Anyway, doesn’t look like it’ll be a long procedure, sir. They’ve already got it set up.” 

And Cody  _ wanted  _ to run from the room. He felt ready to crawl out of his skin, staring at the med droids. But that would just look suspicious. Before yesterday, before Once told him there was a thing inside his brain, he wouldn’t have thought twice about following the droids into the med bay and letting them do… whatever they wanted to him.

“Commander?” the medic prompted, frowning a bit.

Cody shook off the sense of dread in his gut. Maybe this was all legitimate. Maybe it wasn’t. But he couldn’t see a way out of it without drawing serious attention to himself. Attention he’d already attracted, it seemed. 

Better to go along with it. He could go see Once afterwards, to check for the thing in his brain. He nodded. “Sorry,” he said, “just rethinking my schedule for the morning.” He gestured at the droids. “Let’s get started, huh?”

#

“You’re in a good mood,” Ahsoka said, frowning as she sat down across from Anakin in the Mess. He arched an eyebrow at her. She only stared harder. He’d been so upset for the past days, carrying around a ball of curdling emotions since they left the planet. It was all… gone, or at least buried over, covered with a vibrating sense of joy. “Did something happen?”

Anakin shook his head. “I must have just slept well,” he said, though he looked tired, as Ahsoka peered closer. There were dark circles under his eyes. She frowned at him, but, really, it was a good thing his bleak mood had finally lifted. Why would she question that too closely? He waved a hand, “Or maybe I’m just excited about my new orders.”

“New orders?” she hadn’t heard anything, but then, she’d been a bit preoccupied, lately.

He nodded, mopping up the rest of his breakfast. “Yeah. They’re sending me out to some listening post they set up. They designed it to monitor shipping lines through Hutt space. They want to have a Jedi test it. Guess I’m the lucky guy they picked.”

She shifted, the pad in her hands suddenly felt very heavy. “Oh. When are you leaving?”

He pushed up from the table. “Now,” he said, patting her shoulder as he passed. “I’ll be back in a few days, alright?”

He was already walking away. She sighed, hanging her head. A headache had formed in the center of her skull. She wanted to lean over and rest her head on the table, but resisted the urge, glancing sideways when she felt Rex’s approach. He slid into Anakin’s vacated place, a tray in his hands, and said, “What’s bothering you, kid?”

She looked at him, for a moment, feeling some of the ache in her head ease, all at once. Sometimes it was good to know that someone  _ noticed _ something was bothering her. And what would it hurt to tell him what she’d found? She’d wanted to inform Anakin, but that was obviously going to have to wait a few days. She couldn’t imagine holding onto the information that long. She wanted to tell someone  _ right then _ . She leaned a little forward and said, “So, I’ve been looking into where the Type 2s came from.”

Rex stiffened. “Having any luck?”

“A bit,” she said, and watched his head snap up so his gaze could focus on her.

“What?” 

“I know,” she said, laughing a little. She set down the pad she’d had hugged to her chest, exhaling shakily. She hadn’t really expected to find anything. After all, no one knew  _ exactly  _ where the Type 1s had come from. No one had really found out anything about him.

A part of her wondered how hard anyone had looked. The Type 1s had shown up right when they were needed most. How many in the Senate - how many in the Council - had wondered about  _ where  _ they’d come from when they could have spent that time being grateful they existed. They’d all have been overrun by the Separatists without the Type 1s.

“I was looking at transport records around Kamino shortly after….” She grimaced and pressed on. “Shortly after the conflict on Naboo. After all, the samples must have gotten there, you know, physically. And there’s never been a lot of travel too or from Kamino.”

Rex reached out and pulled the pad closer, keeping his gaze on her, waiting. She shrugged. “And I found a ship. A small ship that visited Kamino.”

“Ships visit Kamino for lots of reasons,” Rex said, quietly.

She nodded, forced herself not to fidget, to draw calmness and stability from the Force. “I know. But how many do you know that could convince a security ship working for the Crimson Dawn that they didn’t need to be boarded and checked to move through Syndicate space?”

Rex didn’t blink. His fingers tightened around the pad. “You found the name of this ship?”

Ahsoka stretched across the table, scrolling through the pad, gesturing at the screen. “I found its current owner,” she said. “This is - I should tell General Skywalker about this, right?”

Rex scowled down at the pad. “Yeah. He should know.”

“So of course he’s gone now,” Ahsoka said, slumping, and Rex snorted.   
“It’ll keep, kid. The information’s been there for nine years. It can wait a few days more.” He stood, then, grabbing his tray, and she followed him. She had plenty of work to do. Things that would keep her busy and occupy her thoughts. Rex turned away in the hall outside the mess, going to attend to his own duties, and Ahsoka headed for the nearest lift, her mind busy and churning.

Ben distracted her from the busy hum of her thoughts, stepping onto the lift with her with a little smile. He put off such a swell of ease and joy that she felt her shoulders relaxing instinctively in response. He nodded at her. “Ahsoka, how are you today?” The question brought all her worries right back to the surface. She tightened her grip on the pad, and watched him frown, cocking his head at her. “What’s wrong?”

She wanted to tell Anakin what she’d found, but Anakin wasn’t there. And Ben was - well, he should know, anyway? This was about him, and his brothers. And she trusted him. He’d know what to do. Maybe he’d even meditate with her afterwards. That would help her get her emotional state under control.

She exhaled. “I, well. I found out something,” she said, looking away from him, feeling him watching her. “Something about where you might have come from.”

“Oh?” Ben asked, and she felt only vague curiosity from him.

“Yeah,” she said, glancing up and offering out the pad. He read over it, brows drawing closer together, and then looked over at her.

“Well,” he said. “That is interesting. I’m surprised you’ve been working on it. You’re going to tell General Skywalker?”

She nodded as their lift stopped. “As soon as he gets back.” She’d thought about sending it, but it didn’t feel right to transmit it over a comm channel. Anakin would be back soon enough. She could show him what she’d found.

“Good idea,” Ben said and reached out, touching her shoulder. “You want to tell me why you’re so worried about this?”

She thought about that. How was she to express to Ben that she was worried because someone Force sensitive was almost certainly responsible for delivering his genetic code to the Kaminoans? It could have been a Jedi, in which case someone was keeping secrets from the Council. Or it could have been a Sith.

She didn’t like any of the options before them. She shook her head. Trying to put it all into words escaped her. “I’m just worried,” she said. “And this is the closest we’ve come to finding out where  _ any  _ of the clones have come from. Even the Type 1s, no one knows for sure who…” She waved a hand. “If we find this ship, it could answer a lot of questions.”

Ben hummed and nodded. “Well, the General will be back before you know it. I was going to meditate. Would you like to join me?”

“Yes,” she said, happy for the company and the chance to calm her thoughts. He smiled, and she managed to return the gesture after a moment. It would be alright. It would all be fine. She just needed to take a deep breath and calm down.

#

Once looked up from the papers spread on the floor around him at the wash of anxiety that swept over him. Someone was projecting, strongly, in his direction. Cody. He stood, scattering a few pads, reaching his door just as Cody raised his hand to knock.

Cody looked drawn and tense, pushing into Once’s quarters without waiting and waving the door shut. “Commander,” Once started, “what’s—”

Cody grabbed his hand and pressed Once’s palm up against his forehead. “I think they put it back,” he ground out, his voice low and rough. “I need you to check. Right now.”

“What?” Once asked, but he was already sliding back into Cody’s thoughts, following pathways that he was quickly growing familiar with. The Kaminoans had told them, back in the facility, that they would not be able to connect to Type 1s, who lacked their Force sensitivity. But that had been, obviously, a lie. Once was beginning to believe that they’d been lied to about a great many things, and—

And his thoughts derailed, abruptly, at the unwelcome presence he found in the center of Cody’s mind. He jerked, and would have stumbled back if Cody were not holding onto him. He blinked out of Cody’s thoughts to find Cody scowling. “That’s what I thought,” Cody snarled. 

“I don’t understand,” Once said. “How did—”

“I was called down to the medbay,” Cody interrupted, pacing. “Told that I was getting a booster for something I’d been exposed to down on the planet. Two droids took me into surgery, knocked me out, and sent me on my way with this headache, and I thought…” He shrugged. “I thought it all seemed a little too much like a coincidence.”

“Force,” Once exhaled, his thoughts racing around in a tangle. “ _ Force _ . They must be monitoring the devices somehow.”

Cody nodded. “They knew when it was deactivated. And they didn’t waste any time installing a new one.”

Nausea crawled up Once’s throat. He looked at the lists across his floor. He’d spent a good portion of the morning scanning other troopers, looking for evidence of the chip. He hadn’t found any troopers without one. “I’m sorry,” he said, dread filling him up. “I should have thought of that. I put you at terrible risk.”

“You didn’t do anything I didn’t want you to do,” Cody said. “You had no way of knowing. I’m more concerned with what we’re going to do  _ now _ .” 

Once nodded, scrubbing a hand across his face. “Removing it again would be suspicious. And there goes my plan for starting a mass removal.” He gestured. “You all have them. All the troopers.”

“Kriffing hell.” Cody’s hand fell to his blaster, for the comfort of having a weapon at hand, though he had no one to use it against. “What are we going to do?”

Once sighed, running his hand back over his hair and then nodding. “We’re going to find a way to disable  _ all  _ of them at the same time. And we’re going to find out what they do. And we’re going to tell General Jinn. We’re going to need help with this, Commander.”

Cody had to agree. This was bigger than the two of them. It encompassed all of his brothers. They couldn’t just sit on their hands and try to handle it alone. “Alright,” he said, “well, why delay?”

#

Qui-Gon needed to meditate. He’d been searching for calm since they left the planet and had yet to find it. His emotions had been a tumult since he first began feeling agony across his bond with Obi-Wan. The pain had been remarkable and encompassing, but it had come with no fear, only grim determination. He had not expected anything less. That had always been how Obi-Wan handled his own hurts.

Qui-Gon had thought he was prepared to see Obi-Wan’s injuries, when the troopers finally started returning from the planet. He had been unable to go down to the planet. His injuries would only have made him a burden, and he’d known that, but the waiting had left him strung tight as a wire.

The wire had threatened to snap when he finally saw Obi-Wan, pale and limp, unconscious. He’d lived, and that was the important thing, the thing Qui-Gon held onto while he laid still in his bed in the infirmary. He lived, and Qui-Gon still felt him through their bond, a presence without any emotion to it throughout those long days.

He’d fallen asleep, without intending to do so, while Obi-Wan convalesced. When he woke, Obi-Wan had been gone, he’d been covered with a blanket, and for a lurching moment he had been sure the last few months had only been a dream. In the next heartbeat, he’d been sure that Obi-Wan had been lost while he slept, that he would, again, have torn from him--

But he’d felt Obi-Wan, still, in his mind. Alive and well. Worried about something. His worry had woken Qui-Gon, pressing at him, drawing him to his feet. 

Qui-Gon had found Obi-Wan in his quarters and not alone. Commander Cody was inside, as well, and Qui-Gon had frowned, looking over the pair of them. Obi-Wan’s bunk had looked… mussed. People had always been drawn to his apprentice, to the light of him. How many interested individuals had Qui-Gon had to dissuade, how many times had he failed, and watched hearts break? How many times had he seen Obi-Wan shoulder the guilt, all the blame for the actions of those around him?

Cody had left under Qui-Gon’s scowl, and Qui-Gon had promised that he would monitor that situation more closely. But he’d been more concerned with ensuring Obi-Wan was fully recovered through the day, leaving the work uncompleted, leading to further meditation. He was still looking for calm when his door chimed.

He felt Obi-Wan on the other side, and some of the tension inside him faded.

It returned when he found Cody at Obi-Wan’s shoulder. They both looked grim. Obi-Wan said, “Can we come in, General?”

Qui-Gon did not think to correct him - he’d grown weary of trying - and waved them into the room. He offered them tea, frowned when they declined, and then left his own tea grow cold, listening to the story they spun for him, standing beside one another, both radiating concern and anger. When they finished, Qui-Gon sat down his cup and said, “Show me, then.”

Obi-Wan nodded, he felt relieved - as though Qui-Gon would not have believed him - and gestured Cody forward. Cody shifted, expression stiff when Qui-Gon placed hands on either side of his head. Obi-Wan stood behind him, hands over Qui-Gon’s, warm and callused already from lightsaber use, and so, so familiar.

Qui-Gon shut his eyes, following the path Obi-Wan lit up, right to the device they’d found. 

He jerked upon brushing it with his mind, snapping his eyes open and taking a step back. Obi-Wan and Cody both watched him. Obi-Wan left a hand on Cody’s shoulder, and they looked so different, his Commander with his grim, scarred visage, and his apprentice, pale and tired-eyed. 

For a moment, he could only stare at them, processing all he had been told. He rubbed a hand over his face, dread pooling like acid inside his stomach. That Obi-Wan had even  _ thought  _ to try to connect with the Type 1s did not surprise him; Obi-Wan had never been afraid to try the impossible. The fact that he’d  _ succeeded _ was… something else entirely.

That he’d found this device in the process was another problem.

“What should we do?” Obi-Wan asked, looking at him, trusting him to have the answers. Qui-Gon had always thought he had them, always trusted that he would know what to do. He’d been wrong so often.

He couldn’t be wrong again. He shook his head. “We investigate this. Carefully. Until we know who is involved, I want you two to keep it to yourselves.”

He would have told the Council right away, once upon a time. He’d informed them so quickly when he found the Type 1s on Kamino. And look where that had gotten all of them. There was something at work here, something tugging like an undercurrent on all of them, and he dared not allow them all to be dragged under.

Obi-Wan nodded. “I’ve been doing some research,” he offered.

“Bring it here,” Qui-Gon said, smiling when he started immediately for the door. Cody turned as though to follow, and Qui-Gon continued, “Commander, I’d like to speak with you for a moment.” He set his expression as the door closed and he turned to find Cody already looking at him, stone-faced, his posture perfect, his hands clasped behind his back.

“You seem to be getting on very well with Obi-Wan.”

A muscle jumped in Cody’s cheek. He said, “Sir.”

Qui-Gon frowned at him. “He isn’t one of your brothers.”

Cody held his gaze, even as his expression froze into place. “I’m aware, General.”

“He’s a Jedi,” Qui-Gon continued. He towered over Cody, over all the clones. It was not something he thought of, most of the time. But he’d use whatever advantages he had, to protect Obi-Wan, to see him taken care of, as he should have been, before. He wouldn’t fail Obi-Wan, not again. “Jedi don’t form attachments.” Cody only stared at him, waiting. “Do you understand me?”

Cody still didn’t blink. He said, “I’m sure I understand what you mean, sir.”

“Good,” Qui-Gon said. “Keep it in mind. You’re dismissed.” He nodded, and Cody turned, heading for the door. Qui-Gon frowned, after he left, turning and sinking down to his bunk, leaning to put his head in his hands. There were too many problems, pulling on his attentions. The war and now these chips.

It would be easy to push Obi-Wan to the side. He had, so many times before. Obi-Wan had made it easy, never complaining, bearing up under all of Qui-Gon’s requests and expectations. He’d always given the impression of being utterly capable. Of not  _ needing  _ Qui-Gon’s help or concern. 

But that hadn’t been true. It had  _ never  _ been true, and Qui-Gon would never forget that again.

#

Anakin got back from the pointless trip to the monitoring station early. It had been a waste of time for everyone involved, but that was roughly par for the course with the war, he’d come to find out. They’d sat in the dark of space, taking scans of nothing, until it was finally decided that they’d scanned enough emptiness. Half the time they’d ordered him out of his fighter for further scans, which hadn’t seemed to do anything.

Well, it had given him too much time to think, and his thoughts had all run in circles. He’d dwell on what he’d done to Ben, and feel guilt crawl sour up out of his gut. Qui-Gon would be furious with him, if he ever found out. Furious that Anakin would engage in such activities. Furious that he’d done such things with someone who looked like Obi-Wan, no doubt.

He started to open a comm channel to Qui-Gon over and over, to explain himself and plead for understanding, but each time he cancelled it. He couldn’t imagine what he’d actually say, if he managed to reach his Master. He thought, a hundred times, that he would have to go back and make it clear to Ben that it had been a mistake, a momentarily lapse, nothing more.

But the resolution never lasted. Because,  _ Force _ , how could it? Touching Ben, feeling his pleasure echoed back through their bond, had been beyond description. Anakin spent half his time - more than half his time - sitting in his fighter and trying vainly to ease the discomfort he felt, hard in his jumpsuit, thinking about Ben’s clever fingers, the turn of his smile, and the way his eyes looked with the pupils blown huge.

And Ben  _ wasn’t  _ Obi-Wan. He wasn’t. Obi-Wan was a decade dead. He’d been a perfect Jedi, but Ben wasn’t. Ben wasn’t a Jedi at all, just a copy. A clone made to go out into the galaxy and keep Anakin from dying.

Maybe none of this would have happened if Qui-Gon had just  _ listened  _ when Anakin tried to talk to him. They could have sent their clones away. They could have kept them at a distance. Instead, Qui-Gon had fallen into some kind of ploy from his, and Ben had - had saved his life and looked so soft and surprised when Anakin kissed him and gone willingly to his bed, letting Anakin do all the things he wanted to do.

Anakin swallowed heavily, knocking his head against the back of the seat, body thrumming with wants he couldn’t possibly sate.

He’d never had anyone willing to go along with what  _ he  _ wanted. No wonder the Order forbade such dalliances. It was all Anakin could think about and it had been days. He couldn’t stop imagining touching Ben again, tasting him. He couldn’t stop thinking about other things he wanted to do, things he’d read about or seen in vid clips.

So, maybe attachment was a mistake. Maybe it was making him slow, maybe he needed to tell Ben never again….

His thoughts twisted like a gyre, for days, until he was finally released from the pointless duty. He pushed the engines on the way back to the  _ Resolute _ , shaving time off and ignoring R2’s incessant questions as to  _ why _ . He just wanted to be back aboard ship. By the time he arrived, he’d convinced himself he would take Ben aside, explain he’d slipped up and made a mistake. He was half-hard, but he was sure if he just breathed, slowly and steadily, climbing out of his ship, that would go away.

He arrived during the ship’s night cycle, even pushing the engines. No doubt Ahsoka was already asleep; she felt drowsy and distant through their bond. He’d check in with her in the morning.

Ben, he found, was wide awake. Anakin felt him so clearly. It had to be a result of the resonance, he knew that. A leftover from the tether that let him pick up Ben’s emotions halfway across the ship, the spike in interest when Anakin reached out for him. Anakin sped his own steps, heart rate increasing.

The Jedi warned against what Anakin had done, but he’d completed the mission just fine while thinking about Ben. They warned about lots of things. They’d preached at him that he was making mistakes every day of his kriffing life, and he was still the one they sent to fight battles and win wars.

Maybe they just needed to trust him.

Maybe they didn’t understand his strength.

He could handle this thing, he decided. He met Ben outside the door of his quarters, approached from the other direction, all thoughts of putting this thing between them in the ground gone from his mind. Ben was, by far, more interesting that the space he’d spent the better part of a week studying. Anakin would have  _ much  _ rather been studying Ben. “Lieutenant-Commander,” he said, nodding at another trooper passing them in the hallway and waving his door open. “I’m ready to hear your report.”

Ben flashed him a smile, there and gone, amusement and heat in his eyes. “Of course, sir,” he said, and it didn’t affect Anakin when anyone else called him  _ sir, _ but when Ben did it heat pooled hot and overpowering in his gut. He gestured Ben in, following behind him, listening to the door shut and lock. 

Ben turned, arousal already weaving across the connection, and Anakin was on him, then, pushing him against the wall, nudging his chin up, ducking to kiss him. Ben moved under his hands, already scrambling at Anakin’s robes, detaching his cloak and letting it fall to the floor unregarded. 

He’d been all Anakin could think about, stuck at the Force-forsaken listening post. Anakin had never touched another person like this, he’d had  _ no idea _ what it was like, not really. He almost recalled Qui-Gon’s concerns about engaging in such activities as Ben rocked up against him, groaning against Anakin’s mouth. Ben’s clever hands were tugging at his tunic already, pushing at Anakin’s shoulders.

Anakin wanted to touch him all the time, to keep Ben just where he wanted. He caught Ben’s hands, pressing his wrists to the wall, and Ben’s breath came out in a stutter against his mouth. His eyes were wide and dark, and Anakin kissed him, deep and thorough, and panted, “Force, I missed you.”

Ben shivered, mouth all wet and reddened, pulse beating against Anakin’s hands. Anakin had thought about what he’d do when he got back. It had filled up the empty hours. And now he had Ben right there. Anakin kissed him again and then pulled away, bending quickly, grabbing him and slinging him over a shoulder.

Ben made a sound, half surprised, half something darker and interested. It fulfilled wants Anakin didn’t know he’d had to dump Ben down onto his mattress and crawl on after him, shoving clothes off as he went. Ben reached for him, hands skimming over skin, and Anakin caught them again. He wanted to touch, he wanted to--to do all the things that had filled his mind.

He could hold both of Ben’s wrists with his left hand, servos whirring gently when Ben tugged fruitlessly against him, arching up against Anakin, panting so loud in the room that Anakin was sure, momentarily, they’d be caught out. But no one knocked. No one came to question them as he touched all he’d dreamed of touching and tasted all he’d imagined tasting. 

And, when Ben lay, trembling and spent, Anakin nuzzled against his neck, and said, “I want--” He pushed the image across the bond, the way Ben did, sometimes. It was the first time Anakin had tried, and the effect was immediate. Ben gasped, bowing up, pleasure and desire echoing back at Anakin.   
“Yes,” he panted out, shifting, and Anakin tilted his chin up, kissed him until he felt able to think again. He slid his hand down Ben’s body, feeling his skin jump, feeling him shiver, feeling everything, the entire time they moved together.

He was so kriffing happy he’d rushed back to the  _ Resolute _ .

He didn’t mean to fall asleep with Ben still in the room, afterwards, but he was exhausted. He’d never felt such a pleasant heaviness in his limbs. It felt good to curl an arm around Ben, keeping him close, to let his breathing go slow and deep. He wasn’t sure how long he slept, with the lights still on, but he woke sometime in the middle of the night.

Ben was curled against him, eyes closed, his skin chilled; they’d never managed to pull up any blankets. Anakin stared at him for a moment. There were dark circles under his eyes, as though he had not slept at all. His mouth still looked reddened. Anakin traced a finger down the line of his cheek, and Ben stirred, blinking up at him, and asking, “Bhrl?”

Anakin smiled at him, feeling his confusion across their connection. “It’s late,” Anakin said. “Or early.”

Ben blinked, soft and groggy. “Mm,” he said, shifting around. “I need to go.”

“Unfortunately,” Anakin said, watching him climb from the bed. It wasn’t nearly as satisfying, watching him put clothes back on. Anakin shifted, sitting up, and snagged Ben by the front of his tunics, pulling him down to kiss him.

It took time to fall back asleep after Ben left. He just laid in bed, missing the weight beside him and feeling an ache of want in his gut. He threw his arm over his face, feeling a smile on his face that only faded slowly as thoughts of what Qui-Gon would say, what he would do, crept back.

Anakin rolled, as though he could put his back to the recriminations inside his mind. What did Qui-Gon know about any of it, anyway? What right did he have to tell Anakin where he could or could not snag a bit of joy? He hated the guilt that crept threw his bones and shoved it down. He didn’t want Ben feeling it. Worrying.

Anakin sat up, giving sleep up for a loss, and scrubbed at his face. He might as well get a start on the day. Force knew there’d be plenty to do.

#

The days after the medics put the chip back in Cody’s head were strange, to say the least. Once felt like there were things crawling under his skin. He felt watched at all times, just waiting for someone to pull him aside and inform him that they knew what he’d done.

That didn’t happen. In fact, the medics left them alone completely. Once couldn’t stop watching them anyway. Waiting. Sure something was about to go wrong. He wasn’t the only one feeling tense. He picked up the emotion from General Jinn across their bond, a constant pressure in the back of his mind.

And Cody felt tense, as well, when they ran into one another. Things had shifted between them, after the reinstallation of the chip. Once didn’t entirely know why, but Cody had become stiff with him. Professional. It stung, the sudden change to their previous comradery. 

Once tried to accept it without complaint. After all, Cody had the right to be frustrated with him. He’d slipped into Cody’s mind, Cody had  _ trusted  _ him to fix the problem he found, and instead, they’d ended up right back where they started. And it wasn’t as though Cody acted cruelly with him. Just perfectly professional, as though he’d never come to Once’s quarters.

It was strange because he still felt… different. Once felt his regard when they worked together and during their discussions. He’d sensed a sharp curiosity from Cody often. He felt it from many of the Type 1s, in all honesty. It wasn’t anything that bore much consideration. They were on a ship primarily with their brothers. There were very few other people for them to see, mostly just the General and Once.

It was natural that they would be curious about him, in one way or another.

Cody still felt curious. But barely any of his feelings slipped out. He’d locked down, pushing Once out and away. Once didn’t question it. It was Cody’s right, after all.

The other troopers didn’t exhibit the same degree of caution with him. Those who had gone with him into the dark sought him out over the days following his recovery. They asked, all of them, in one variation or another, if he could do what he’d done again.

“We’ve never felt anything like that,” Grit had said, speaking for the three of his brothers behind him. “When we were all connected.” Once stared at them, waiting for the rest. “Can you do it again, connect us like that?”

He buried a reflexive flinch. Connecting them beneath the surface of the planet had cost him dearly. There was still an ache in the back of his head that would not fade away. His connection to the Force felt stripped bare, like touching an electric wire each time he did it. But that wasn’t their question. He said, blinking, “Maybe. Probably.”

The Type 1s exchanged a look and then nodded. “Alright,” Grit said, apparently the elected spokesman for the group. “That’s… good to know.” He exchanged another look with his brothers and then leaned closer. “We’re not asking you to do it now. We just wanted to know. But, uh, sir. We did - it helped, it kept us alive. We’re glad you did it. But.” He hesitated again, looking around. “But we’ve all had headaches, sir.”

Once stiffened. He stretched out his senses, but felt no one close by. Grit and the others had been careful in their approach. “Headaches?”

“Yes, sir.” Grit shifted around, leaning a little closer. “We went to the medics about it. They say nothing’s wrong. But it’s all of us who were in the tunnels with you, sir. We’ve asked around. And some of us have been. Well….” He grimaced, looking to the side.

Once reached out to him, touched his arm, “It’s alright. I won’t… It’s alright.”

Grit glanced down at his hand. A spike of something deep and soft flashed through his mind, and he said, “We. Uh. Some of us have been hearing things, sir.”

Once blinked. “Hearing things?” 

Grit nodded, exchanged another glance with his brothers. “Yes, sir.” They clammed up again, all of them. Once could feel the worry radiating out of them. It was easier to feel it from them, than it was from the Type 1s he hadn’t connected with in the cave.

Once frowned, their concern becoming his, as easily as that. “What kind of things?”

Grit shifted around, looked over his shoulder. He said, finally, quietly, “Voices. Telling us not to trust the Jedi, sir.” Something cut through Once, cold and sharp, as Grit continued. “But you’re not Jedi. You’re one of us. And we thought you should know.”

The cold inside Once left him shivering, but he managed to nod, to tell Grit that he would figure the voices out for them. He swallowed heavily, watching them leave, feeling the burden lifted off of their minds, grateful that he could do that much for them.

He went to find Cody. He had to share with someone what had happened, even if he wasn’t sure it would do any good.

#

The thing was, Cody thought, he hadn’t planned to do  _ anything  _ about the way he felt about Once. Once was in his chain of command, for one thing. And… And had enough challenges in his life, without adding some of the thoughts Cody had into the mix.

But he hadn’t expected General Jinn to order him off. It shifted something in his head. It made him more aware of the way Once looked, frowning over a report, the way heat radiated off of his skin when they stood beside one another, the brightness of his eyes. He found his skin tingling when Once was around, watching him.

He felt General Jinn watching  _ him _ , at the same time. He kept his behavior well within the bounds of normalcy and professionalism. He tried to put the entire thing out of his mind, and sometimes succeeded, when Once wasn’t around.

It was more difficult when he called for a meeting, when he pulled Cody into his quarters, his mouth set in an unhappy line. Cody felt a little jolt upon the realization that General Jinn wasn’t with them.

“Commander,” Once said, shutting the door behind him, and asking, before Cody could manage a greeting. “Have you been hearing voices? Since the…” He gestured towards Cody’s head.

Cody shivered. “I - I did at first. But I haven’t since they replaced the thing in my head.”

“Sithspit,” Once breathed out, running a hand back over his head. “Some of the others are hearing things, still. Things telling them not to trust the Jedi.”

Cody watched him, taking interest in the arch of his cheek, the line of his jaw, more than he should have. “How’d you find out?”

Once waved a hand. “They told me.” He glanced over at Cody, sudden guilt twisting his features. “I must have damaged the things in their heads. The thing in your head.”

Cody thought about the noises he’d heard, before Once removed the chip. He’d thought for sure someone was trying to communicate with him. It sent a shiver down his back. He reached out, resting a hand on Once’s shoulder, mustering a smile when Once glanced up at him. And if he noticed the way Once’s eyes widened, just a little, well. He wouldn’t have, before General Jinn said anything. “Listen--”

Once looked towards the door, before Cody could complete his thought. It was all the warning Cody had prior to the door chime going off. “It’s the General,” Once said, almost apologetically, stepping away. Cody smothered a grimace, drawing his shoulders straight when the doors opened.

He felt the cool sweep of the General’s regard and met his gaze straight on. He hadn’t been doing anything wrong. He tilted his chin higher, listening to Once lay out what he’d heard, one more time. General Jinn held his gaze for a long, long moment, before finally looking away.

#

“Thought you’d be talking to the General already,” Rex said, finding Ahsoka at the breakfast table, eating like it might be the last meal she’d ever get. She blinked up at him as he took the stool across from her.

“Talking to him about what?” she asked, and he barked out a sharp laugh, stopping when she didn’t join him or crack a smile.

He shifted his shoulders, pushing food around on his plate. “About, you know. The ship you found.”

She blinked, wrinkling her nose a little. “What ship? What are you talking about?”

A trickle of alarm ran down Rex’s spine. His appetite had disappeared, shriveling up completely. “The ship you found, the other day. The one that went to Kamino, right after - Ahsoka.” He looked around the room, shoulders stiffening. No one was close by, no one was watching them. He leaned closer and lowered his voice, anyway. “Do you remember talking to me the day the General left on his mission?”

Her eyes had gone wide. Frightened. Her fingers curled tight around fork and knife. “No, no, I remember… running into you. But I don’t remember what we talked about. Are you saying I told you something about Kamino?”

“About the Type 2s.” Rex pushed his tray to the side. They had bigger problems than wondering what had gone into the protein substitutes in the meal. He almost asked if she were playing some kind of joke, but her eyes were shining and her lips were pressed tight. “You had a pad and everything. Records about some ship. None of this is ringing a bell?”

“I don’t remember any of it,” she said, her voice small. “Rex. How can I not remember any of this?”

“I don’t know.” He was just glad she’d told  _ him _ . If she hadn’t, they might never have discovered the memory loss. “Come on, kid, let’s go find the General. He needs to know about this, right now.”

She nodded, pushing up from the table with a jerkiness to her movements that she didn’t usually carry. She pulled her shoulders up, arms curled around her chest, and he fought the urge to ball his hands to fists.

Someone had done something to her. It was his job to look after her and someone had, somehow, peeled her memories right out of her head. He scowled, temper darkening as they moved through the ship, looking for General Skywalker.

#

Anakin felt the anxiety coming off of Ahsoka before she even reached the right floor of the  _ Resolute _ . It was strong enough that he pushed away from the mission report he was working on and headed out to meet her halfway. 

“Master!” she called, when he turned a corner and found her. She sped up her steps, drawing close to him and grabbing his arm. He looked past her at Rex, a scowl set firmly onto his features, and felt his own level of alarm rise further.

“What’s going on?” he asked, pushing her back a bit to get a look at her. “What’s wrong?”

“I--”

“We need to be somewhere private for this conversation, General,” Rex interrupted, frowning around the hall, and a ball of tension formed right between Anakin’s shoulder blades. He nodded, and they followed him quietly to a meeting room a level down.

He locked the door behind them and turned, finding Rex and Ahsoka clumped together, both watching him. “Alright, we’re somewhere private. What’s going on?”

Ahsoka glanced at Rex, who nodded, blew out a breath, and told Anakin a story that he took, at first, for a joke. Neither of them felt amused. Neither of them grinned. They just stared, as Rex finished, Ahsoka with her arms wrapped around her chest.

Anakin’s heart beat uncomfortably fast behind his ribs. “Who else knew?” he asked. His voice sounded like it came from far away.

“I don’t know, Master,” Ahsoka said, grimacing. “I don’t remember telling anyone else, but…” She shrugged, with a little shudder.

Anakin worked his jaw side to side, took a deep breath, let it out. “Alright. We’ll search the ship. Someone had to do it.”

“A Force user,” Rex said, frowning at the ground, his brows knotted together.

Anakin nodded. “Probably. We’ll look for--”

“I think,” Rex cut in, looking grim as Anakin had ever seen him, “that I might know where we should start.” But he hesitated, grimacing when Anakin glanced at him. “I wasn’t going to say anything,” he said, finally, “because I didn’t figure it was my business. But Ben - Ben wasn’t in his bunk much last night. Didn’t come in until early this morning.”

Anakin blinked. He should have expected, really, for Rex to keep an eye on Ben’s comings and goings. Any troopers out of their bunks were supposed to be questioned. Ben wouldn’t be immune to those regulations.

Ahsoka straightened, jerking a bit with alarm, shaking her head, “Rex, no, Ben wouldn’t--”

“There’s only three people who can use the Force on the  _ Resolute _ ,” Rex said, expression implacable. 

Ahsoka’s lekku curled up at the tips, some of the color fading out of them as she blanched, and Anakin shook his head. “It wasn’t Ben,” he said, fighting the heat trying to rise in his face. He knew very well where Ben had been while missing from his bunk, after all. The memories flashed, hot and inappropriate, behind his eyes.

“I know you don’t want to--”

“He was with me,” Anakin cut in, trying to keep his tone as nonchalant as possible as Rex and Ahsoka both blinked at him. 

Ahsoka wrinkled her nose up. “He was with you… last night? Where?”

Anakin shrugged. “In my quarters. We were working on adjustments to shift rotations.” The lie came easily enough to his lips. He’d be damned if he told his apprentice what he’d actually been doing, about the sounds Ben made when Anakin touched him, the way he twisted his fingers into the blankets when Anakin--

“Shift rotations?” Ahsoka asked. “You worked on shift rotations all night?”

“We discussed other issues. I was gone for days, Ahsoka. It was his job to get me caught up,” Anakin said, waving a hand. “He was with me.”

“So there’s someone else on the ship,” Rex said, shifting around and scanning the room. “Someone else who got into Ahsoka’s quarters and did something to her head.”

“Yeah.” Anakin didn’t like the thought at all. The  _ Resolute  _ had become their safe harbor, their place to relax. To know it had been invaded, without their knowledge, left a vibrating fission of anger through all his bones. “But we’re going to find them. And until we do, at least you told Rex the owner’s name. We can track down this Oorloro Truheng.”

Ahsoka nodded; she didn’t look reassured, exactly. Anakin reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “We’ll begin sweeps of the  _ Resolute  _ today, Snips. We’re going to find out who did this.”   
#

Ben listened to Anakin’s orders for sweeps of the  _ Resolute  _ with a frown. They hadn’t run into any Separatist craft lately. As far as he knew, there hadn’t been any acts of sabotage. The sweeps for possible stow-aways were out-of-the-blue. But Anakin had felt increasingly upset over their connection, so, obviously, something was going on.

“General?” he asked, after the orders were given. It felt strange to call Anakin “general” now, with the memory of his name heavy on Ben’s tongue. But it wouldn’t do to call him Anakin while they were out of his quarters.

Anakin glanced at him. For a moment, his emotions did something odd; Ben felt a brief wash of deeper anger, fear. Then Anakin shook his head, reaching up to rub at the bridge of his nose. “I suppose you deserve to know,” he said, and Ben stiffened. He hadn’t been in the galaxy that long, but he could see no ways  _ that  _ conversational opener boded well.

“Ahsoka found out something about… the creation of you and your brothers.”

Shock bit at Ben, deeply. It was something he never thought about. It certainly wasn’t the explanation he’d expected for all of this. “She did?”

“Mm, and then someone made her forget all about it.”

Ben stared up at him. Anakin had his face turned to the side, a muscle in his jaw was twitching. “You think they’re still aboard,” Ben said, thinking through the orders and all their possible implications.

Anakin jerked out a nod. “I think they must be.” He reached up and dragged a hand back through his hair. “I just - I don’t understand what they were trying to accomplish. They were sloppy, she’d already told Rex what she knew.”

“She’s under guard now,” Ben said, concern pushing aside other questions for a moment. “Right?”

Anakin nodded, mouth quirking a bit. “Of course. Just.” He gestured out to the side. “Someone doesn’t want us to know where you came from, Ben.”

“So it seems.” He couldn’t understand why anyone would care. “Though I don’t know why it matters.”

Anakin blinked over at him. “You don’t care who had you,” he hesitated, words tangling on his tongue. “You know?”

“Cloned?” Ben shrugged. “Not really. There are other things I’m more worried about.” The endless tide of the war filled most of his thoughts. Who cared, really, who had decided years ago to order his creation? Even trying to wonder about it was impossible. His thoughts just slid away, onto other concerns. 

Anakin stared at him, head cocked to the side, brows drawn together a little. He felt concerned, puzzled, through their connection. Ben smiled at him; he’d worried enough for one day. “I’m sure we’ll find whoever did it,” Ben said, moving a little closer, watching Anakin suck in a little breath. His fingers brushed Anakin’s belt, just lightly. “I missed you.”

“Force,” Anakin breathed out, reaching up to curl fingers against Ben’s jaw, tilting his face up. He didn’t say it back, but he didn’t need to. Ben felt it, through their connection, when Anakin drew him closer and kissed him, hungry and needy.

The kiss was soft, for a heartbeat, and then Anakin made a sound against his mouth, hands on him, and it was like hyperdrive engines kicking on, both of them falling into something they didn’t have to worry about at all.

#

Ahsoka paced around her quarters, unable to release the anxiety in her bones to the Force. She knew there was a guard outside her door. She could feel his mind, bright and aware even at the late hour. She  _ knew  _ they were going to find the person who had taken her memories, she trusted Anakin, but…

She couldn’t stop thinking that someone had come into her quarters and  _ taken  _ memories, right out of her head. She shuddered, wrapping her arms tighter around her chest. They knew the person had taken information about the origin of the Type 2s, but she couldn’t stop wondering if that was all. They could have stolen anything. How would she know?   
She reached out towards Anakin through their bond, but he felt… strange. Distant. He dampened their bond sometimes, when he was feeling things he didn’t want to worry her with. He rarely thought to do it, but it did happen. He must have been worried, too.

She drew back. She didn’t want to make him feel worse. She could handle her own worries. She just needed to take a few deep breaths. Maybe meditate. She thought about going to find Ben; he was  _ good  _ at meditating and always made her feel calmer. But then she’d have to explain to the guard outside her door where she was going and why.

She didn’t like the feelings that she had a watcher, a babysitter. She’d rather stay in her room and pretend things were normal. She made herself stop pacing, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. She felt cold, for no good reason. The temperature on the ship was always the same. Usually she ran hot. She closed her eyes and tried to find a calm place, in the center of her thoughts.

It didn’t work. She was back to pacing a moment later. She couldn’t shake the feeling that, precautions or not, guard on her door or not, everything would be gone from her mind again in the morning. The worry hummed through her. She felt it in the Force.

She blew out a breath and grabbed a handful of pads. All her research had been deleted, too. She wrote everything down again, multiple times, even stashing some of it in a message she’d been working on for Master Plo Koon. She’d done a poor job keeping up with correspondence lately, but there’d been so much going on.

She wrote everything down, all her scrambled thoughts, fingers drifting towards the command to transmit the message. A knock at her door disturbed her. She tucked the pad away hurriedly on her desk and heard it clatter off the back. She swore, hurriedly, and opened the door.

Rex stood on the other side, frowning a bit around the hall. “Hey,” she said, some of the tension inside her chest unraveling. “Figured you’d be sleeping.” 

He shrugged. He had his helmet under one arm. “I’m taking this watch,” he said. “Just wanted to let you know. I’ll be keeping my eyes open. You should get some rest, kid. You look beat.” She imagined she did. She’d felt exhausted all day long. 

She nodded and headed for her bunk after shutting her door. It had been a long day, but she was safe, now. She curled up on her mattress, arm tucked under her head, and shut her eyes. She didn’t expect to be able to sleep, but dreams came over her quickly, picking her up and swallowing her down. She woke once, to soft, familiar voices outside her door, but a feeling of calm sent her right back down to dreams.

#

Ben woke up in Anakin’s bunk, disoriented and exhausted in the dead of night. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep there, again. He needed to be in his bunk. He scrubbed at his face, shifting. At least Anakin wasn’t all tangled around him. He sat up, wondering where all his clothing had gotten to, and Anakin made a small sound behind him, shifting.

“Go back to sleep,” Ben murmured, retrieving his undershirt and standing.

“Where’re you going?” Anakin stretched amidst the blankets. The faint lights running along the floorboards shone off the line of his arms, reaching over his head. Ben shook himself and looked away.

“To my bunk,” he said. It was where he was supposed to sleep, and, anyway, he always felt exhausted after sleeping beside Anakin. It made no sense, but he could use the rest. He pulled on his pants. They still felt warm. Maybe he hadn’t slept as long as he’d thought.

“Mm,” Anakin said, hooking fingers into Ben’s waistband and pulling him over. He nuzzled against Ben’s hip, sleep warm. His breath tickled against Ben’s skin. “Stay a bit.” Anakin brushed a kiss to his side, another to his stomach. He tugged at Ben’s waistband, strong, clever hands drawing them down once more.

“I,” Ben started, and shivered when Anakin dragged him closer, all easy strength and sleepy want across their connection. 

“That’s an order,” Anakin rumbled, mouth sliding  _ down _ , and Ben trembled.

“Yeah,” he panted, and Anakin pulled him down, sprawling over him, and, for a while, Ben forgot to be tired, all lit up on the inside with Anakin’s touch.

He did remember to go back to his bunk, afterwards.

#

Ahsoka woke up with a headache. She blinked up at her ceiling for a moment, trying to remember the last vestiges of the dream she’d been having. It had been a bad dream. Someone had been in her quarters with her, curled over the bed. She’d wanted to move and couldn’t.

She shuddered, rubbing both hands over her face and sitting up. No one was in her quarters. Of course. She shook her head, trying to dislodge the dream with a yawn. She felt like she hadn’t slept at all, exhaustion clinging to her as she stood and stretched.

At least they didn’t have anything cuttingly important to do, as far as she knew. They were only supposed to be traveling today, en route to another battlefield on some other Force forsaken planet with all available speed. Things were going poorly there, and quickly. Their assistance was more than needed.

She prepared for the day, organizing her quarters, willing herself to wake up a little bit more. It didn’t seem like it was going to happen. She frowned, as she finished getting ready. She was missing a pad, couldn’t find it anywhere, and sighed. It would turn up sooner or later. She didn’t think it had anything vitally important on it, anyway, just a message she’d been preparing for Master Plo Koon. 

Rex looked nearly as groggy as she felt, when she found him in the mess hall. “Hey,” she said, hoping a meal would make her feel better, “you alright?”

He nodded, though there were circles under his eyes. “Just have a headache,” he said. “Nothing serious.”

She hummed, nodding. “I guess we should get to work on those sweeps Skyguy wanted. You have any idea what he’s so worried about?”

Rex shook his head, standing from the table and grabbing his helmet. “Who knows? Must have been something he found on that scouting mission.”

#

Palpatine had truly and honestly thought it would be simple to acquire one of the new clones. He’d placed a request for the Council to send over a clone and assumed they would near immediately. After all, surely they had to be uncomfortable, watching one of their fallen walk around again.   
The Jedi, he’d found, over and over, were sentimental fools.

But his request kept getting pushed off. Windu sent his clone  _ off-world _ . Yoda kept his tucked away, looking over lost histories. The other Masters on the Council kept theirs close, radiating a sense of confusion and  _ pain  _ in so many cases. It made no logical sense for them to keep the instruments of their agony so close, but they were Jedi.

Logic never factored much into their decisions.

He had to wait until a clone replacement arrived, en route to join Pong Krell. Krell felt tinged all over with darkness and shadow. He always had. His last clone had come to a poor end, somehow. Palpatine could identify a doctored mission report when he saw one, and there was no way the thing had died the way Krell claimed.

But that wasn’t really a matter that fell into Palpatine’s circle of concern. Far more intriguing was the clone sent to replace him, the clone with orders easy enough to adjust, now that Palpaltine knew about them.

Palpatine smiled when the doors to his inner chambers opened. He turned slowly, savoring the moment. It was always good to appreciate successes. The clone waited in the doorway, looking around, curiosity on its features. Palpaltine had met Obi-Wan Kenobi only briefly. The boy had been problematically bright in the Force.

He’d requested his apprentice at the time handle the problem. He hadn’t anticipated Kenobi would take out Maul as well. His smile withered at the memory. It had been such a waste. Still, better to find out that Maul was too weak early, than to rely on him through the rest of Palpatine’s planning.

The clone really did look just like him, save a problem with eye color. This one had eyes far too green to match Palpatine’s memories. “Hello, Chancellor,” the clone said, inclining its head. “I’m honored to meet you.”

Palpatine ignored him, looking over his shoulder to one of his guards. He waved a hand, and the guard moved forward, unhesitating to pull the thing’s head back and slide a needle into its throat, depressing the plunger even as the thing thrashed.

The struggle was only momentary. It ended with the clone on a pile on the floor, limp, fingers twitching only slightly. Palplatine smiled once more, moving to crouch beside it, getting a better look at it. He pushed it’s shoulder, rolling it onto its back. “Well, well. Do you  _ know _ how long I’ve wanted to get my hands on one of you?” 

Palpatine stood and nodded at the guards. “Take it below. See that it's fully secured. Take no chances, do you understand me?”

He turned aside as they worked, listening with half an ear as they dragged the thing away. He hummed, looking out across his city, his planet. He lifted the glass of wine off of his desk and took a sip.

His patience was always rewarded, sooner or later. He had one of the things, unlikely to be missed by Krell. With a little effort, he would have the answers he wanted regarding the thing’s true origin and purpose.

And then he could figure out what to do with the rest of them.

He took a larger drink, smiling.


	5. Chapter 5

Palpaltine waited until the thing was secure before he visited the Facility. He had so much other work to do, in any case. Time had to be set aside to visit the levels of the city that he’d carefully bought out, using the names of several different companies, so they could not be tracked back to him, or even to the Senate.

He slipped away carefully, when finally he found the time, traveling down, down into the areas he’d prepared so long ago for his more… private work. His guards moved about the complex, faceless in their masks. Silent. He didn’t work with droids, as a rule. They were so much harder to control than people, he found.

He moved to the center of his complex, to an area he’d had constructed specifically to block and contain the Force. The room felt like an empty spot, devoid of life and warmth. He detested stepping inside of it, but sometimes it was necessary.

He wanted to see the thing, to question it personally. He shuddered as his connection to the Force dampened, though it could not be cut off entirely. Inside the small, quiet, room, there was a single platform. The thing was currently strapped to it, with thick bands around its arms and legs.

Palpaltine circled it. The thing was conscious. He could hear it breathing, too fast. Gooseflesh had broken out across it’s skin. It could not turn its head to watch him as he paced, not with the bands around its throat and forehead. Palpatine came to a stop in front of it, looking it up and down. It wasn’t much to look at, really. Surely, whoever had created it could have selected a more imposing figure.

“What are you doing?” the thing asked, muscles tensed through its body. “Where am I? What--”

It strangled off when Palpatine waved an absent hand, signaling the guard who controlled everything that happened in the room. After a moment, Palpatline nodded, and it sagged against its bonds, gagging for breath, trembling all over. “I ask the questions here,” Palpatine said, watching it.  
It swallowed, convulsively. There were still shudders, dancing under its skin. “I’m not going to tell you anything,” it said, voice rough.

“Oh,” Palpaltine said, raising a hand again. He let it go until the thing screamed, thrashing against unmovable bonds. “Yes, you will.”

And until it did, perhaps the time had come for him to take other steps to address the presence of these things in his galaxy.

#

The war conspired to keep them far away from Kamino, the only place that seemed likely to have answers about the _thing_ that Once felt in the minds of the Type 1s. Instead, they were flung from one fight to the next, often too busy trying to stay alive to even consider the possible repercussions of what they’d found.

General Jinn refused to go to the Council with their findings, and Once wouldn’t go against him. He worried that someone on the Council must _know_ , already. They couldn’t afford to show their hand. Not until they knew what the chips did. Not until they’d found a way to get them out, all of them, safely.

The knowledge that the chips were there just sat in the back of Once’s mind. He saw it weighing on Cody, as well, though the Commander had been distant with him, in the time that followed the discovery of the chips. He _felt_ the same, calm and concerned, but there was something between them, some barrier that Once didn’t understand.

Perhaps Cody was just frustrated at their lack of progress. Or he could have regretted leaving Once into his head. 

On the bad nights, when Once laid awake, alone in his private quarters, with only the dark to keep him company, he wondered if maybe Cody had seen something inside _him_ when they’d shared thoughts. Once had picked things up, without intending to do so. Maybe Cody had done the same. Maybe he’d seen something that caused him to draw back to a safe distance.

Once didn’t know how to ask. He was afraid what the answers might have been, in any case, so he accepted the withdrawal without comment, though it stung him. He’d never fitted right with the Type 1s, not the way he was supposed to. Cody had been an exception, doomed not to last.

Once worried, too, about the other troopers who had been in the caves with him. They still claimed to have headaches, to hear things…. He stared at the ceiling and wondered if it were the chip or if he’d broken something in their minds in his foolish attempt to save them.

He’d only wanted to bring them out of the dark alive. But they weren’t Force sensitive. At the time, he’d only thought of how similar they all were, all of them built on Kamino. He’d reached out to Ben and felt him reach back and he had thought, well. It was worth trying to reach the Type 1s, too.

And they’d opened to him, Cody first and then all the rest. They’d let him share what he saw. He hadn’t thought of the consequences at the time.

They all lived, at least, the survivors of the caves. They received treatment for their ills and they recovered. Once watched them, though, worried desperately that their conditions would deteriorate because of him. They alone, of all the Type 1s on the ship, treated him as a normal comrade in arms.

They called him over, invited him to games, threw arms around his shoulders. Their easy affection made him feel worse. Watching them, worrying for them, and knowing that they each carried a chip in their heads, a chip he couldn’t tell them about, ate away at him. Sometimes he caught Cody frowning at them, and wished he knew how to apologize for whatever he’d done.

He could not discuss it with General Jinn, who felt, already, through their bond, stretched to terrible tension. He had since the planet. He checked on Once constantly through the bond they shared, his mind worried and restless, even in sleep. Once didn’t know how to help him, either, how to sooth the shadows that clung to his thoughts constantly.

General Jinn’s agitation was, he knew, in large part due to the pain that _Once_ now felt, constantly. The medics could find no source for it, but he felt it without cessation. He _hurt_ , down in his bones. The ache wasn’t enough to prevent him from carrying out his duties, but it was always there, a constant agony that remained with him, even in sleep.

The medics said it must be some kind of nerve damage, but they couldn’t find a source for it, nor guess at any kind of corrective treatment.

They were consulting with other medics, across the fleet, as Once understood it. Apparently, he was not the only one of his brothers to experience the pain. They _all_ were. Some kind of flaw, in the cloning process, he guessed. Just like the cascade failures. They’d been built so poorly. He stared at the ceiling and felt his breathing going faster, because he did not know what it would do to General Jinn, when his body fell apart, but…

But he could guess it would not be pleasant, for the General.

It was a relief, of a sorts, to hear that they would be working again with General Skywalker’s men again some weeks later. Once had no idea what he would say to Ben, but maybe he wouldn’t need to say _anything_. He could just show his brother all his concerns. He’d hesitated to do so, last they met, due to fear of exposing all his failures.

But he needed advice. He needed some direction on how to move forward. And Ben had seemed to be adapting well. They were brothers. Ben would understand, would help him. Once held those thoughts tight, staring at the ceiling, hands clenched by his side, projecting back calm when the General reached out to him, one more time, checking on his pain levels.

#

Anakin couldn’t settle, as they made their way to Geonosis. It would be the first time Anakin had seen Qui-Gon, since he’d taken Ben to his bed. He knew he ought to hide it, though Qui-Gon hadn’t seen fit to pay any attention to him, anyway, last time he showed up. Qui-Gon had been far more concerned with the memory of his last apprentice.

“You’re upset,” Ben said, the night before they were to reach Geonosis, sitting on the edge of Anakin’s bunk, pausing with his shirt half-up his arms. He tilted his head and blinked down at Anakin. “Why?”

It was too easy to forget the way Ben felt his emotions. The bond between them had only gotten stronger over the last weeks. Each time they touched it felt more stable, secure. Anakin tucked the emotions away, twisting his mouth. He didn’t want to talk about Qui-Gon with Ben. He didn’t want Ben worrying about him, anyway. He could see lines of tension and pain around Ben’s eyes. They never really went away, as whatever was going wrong with his body wore away at him. Anakin swallowed thickly. “It’s nothing,” he said. “I just hate this planet.”

“Mm.” Ben pulled his shirt the rest of the way on. It left his hair all a mess. “Hopefully we won’t be here long.” He leaned down, kissed Anakin, and slipped from the bed, from the room, back to his bunk. Anakin stared at the door after he left, with a knot in his chest that refused to ease and a burn of bile up the back of his throat.

He knew what Qui-Gon would say, if he found out. He could almost hear the words echoing in his ears. He sat up, thoughts of sleep fleeing him, and dragged a hand back through his hair. Oh, Qui-Gon would be ever so disappointed. Anakin paced and then headed to the fresher, scowling at the water that ran down the drain, hands pressed to the wall and head bowed.

Qui-Gon didn’t need to know, he’d decided, by the time morning arrived and their ships came alongside one another. What kriffing business was it of Qui-Gon’s what he did when he wasn’t risking his life for the Republic and the Order? He hadn’t failed anyone, he still completed every mission, he still did his kriffing _job_ , what did it matter if he had someone waiting for him, afterwards?

He came up with busywork for Ben, when Qui-Gon requested admittance to the ship. He got an arched eyebrow for his trouble, but Ben didn’t argue, grabbing Rex on the way past to go over troop deployments one more time.

It didn’t do as much to ease the ache in Anakin’s chest as he’d hoped. He shook his head, refusing to watch Ben walk away, and went to meet with Qui-Gon. _He_ brought his clone along. Of course he did. The clone was still wearing Jedi robes, still carrying Obi-wan’s old lightsaber on his belt.

Anakin pushed down the surge of rising anger at the man’s appearance. He tilted his chin up, preparing for a standard discussion of tactics. It was a surprise when Qui-Gon gripped his shoulder, looking around worriedly, and said, “Anakin, there’s something I need to discuss with you. Privately.”

They ended up in a quiet room, where Anakin listened to Qui-Gon tell him a tale of chips in the brains of troopers and secrets and dread. Afterwards, he leaned back in his chair and stared at his old Master, all his anxiety tied to Ben momentarily forgotten. He said, thoughts churning in his mind, “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier? You’ve known for two months.”

Qui-Gon shook his head. He looked exhausted. Old. Anakin rarely thought about his age, but he was one of the oldest Generals who saw regular battle. “I didn’t know if the communication channels could be trusted, Anakin.”

The thought twisted down in Anakin’s stomach, unpleasant and aching. He swallowed and looked to the side. “Is it just your troopers?”

“No. We worked with General Secura, not long ago. Obi-Wan - ” Anakin smothered a grimace “ - checked one of her troopers. He found a chip.”

“You can check my men?” Anakin asked, thinking about Rex, how much he’d come to trust the Captain, thoughtlessly, blindly.

“We can check now, if you want,” Qui-Gon said, and Anakin nodded, reaching for his radio. Rex looked puzzled when he found them. Ahsoka trailed along behind him; Anakin should have known she would. But he would need to tell her sooner or later. He waved her in, scowling when the clone shifted away from his place by Qui-Gon’s shoulder.

“Sir?” Rex asked, cutting a glance at Anakin.

Anakin waved a hand. “Relax, Captain,” he said. “We just need to check something. It’ll only take a moment.”

Rex looked deeply unconvinced as the clone approached, offering him a small smile. “Check for what, sir?” he asked, as the clone reached up, resting a hand against the side of his head. Anakin kept his silence, waiting, hoping that -- what? That only Qui-Gon and Secura’s men were affected? That this was a contained problem? That it hadn’t touched him?

He knew the results of the scan before the clone said anything. He’d seen that expression on Ben’s face. The clone turned, shaking his head, and Qui-Gon grimaced. Ahsoka shifted her weight and said, “Masters, can someone please tell us what’s going on?”

Anakin sat through the explanation once more, his thoughts picking away at all that it might portend. He asked, as Qui-Gon finished, “Why don’t the Type 2s have it?”

“We don’t know,” Qui-Gon said, shrugging. “But I can’t find evidence of one in Obi-Wan, and he didn’t sense anything in Lieutenant-Commander Tull. Would you like us to check your...” Qui-Gon stumbled over the words, “your Type 2, Anakin?”

Anakin very much did not want Qui-Gon looking in Ben’s mind. He shook his head. “Show me how. I’ll check. I’ll need to look over the rest of my men, anyway. I just don’t understand the difference.” Anakin frowned as Qui-Gon came over to demonstrate, guiding him along lightning sharp paths through Rex’s mind. He shook himself afterwards. “They all came from the same place, right? Why would only some of them…?” He waved a hand, still unsure what to say about these chips. Touching the one in Rex’s mind had left him with a terrible feeling in the back of his throat, like drinking engine oil.

“Maybe, I mean,” Ahsoka spoke up, shifting around from foot to foot. She’d kept a worried gaze on Rex during the procedure, and was still watching him. “We don’t know where the material for – for the Type 2s came from. I tried to find out, but I couldn’t find anything. They were started _after_ the Type 1s, though, right?” 

“You think it just wasn’t included in their production line?” Anakin asked, noting, from the corner of his eye, the way Qui-Gon flinched, just a little. Good. Maybe a reminder here and there that the man by his side had been created, built from the ground up, would be good for him. “But why not? Even the shinies have it, so they’re still including it in the Type 1s.”

“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “Maybe it doesn’t work if you’re Force sensitive.” 

“Maybe we weren’t ordered by the same person,” Once said, and Anakin buried a grimace. He sounded so much like Ben. But there were differences. Ben always sounded sure about what he was saying, confident. Once lacked something about the self-possession Anakin had grown used to from Ben. It was off-putting.

“What?” Anakin asked, putting aside the anger he couldn’t quite stomp out completely. He didn’t like looking at Once directly. He looked more like Obi-Wan every time Anakin saw him, somehow. It made the hair on the back of Anakin’s neck stand up.

Once shrugged. “We weren’t made in the same facilities. The Type 1s didn’t know about us, except for a few brought in to train us. Why keep us a secret, if we were all part of the same order?”

Anakin stared at him, unease settling over his bones and through his stomach. After a moment, Once noticed, eyes lifting to meet Anakin’s gaze. And they were clear, so blue, so familiar. Anakin flinched and looked away.

He didn’t have this problem with the Type 1s. But he saw so many more of them, hundreds and thousands of them. He’d met a few other Type 2s, here and there. He’d worked with General Plo Koon and Hopper, not even long ago. But they were always brief run-ins, there and gone. For the most part, it was just Ben.

He didn’t _like_ seeing someone else with Ben’s eyes.

“We need answers,” Qui-Gon said, breaking some measure of the tension down Anakin’s spine. “Answers we’re unlikely to get here. I plan to make a visit to Kamino as soon as possible. Someone needs to check on Master Shaak Ti, anyway. Until then… I just wanted you to know, Anakin.”

Anakin nodded, trying to set aside the anger still in his gut. He wasn’t happy about any of Qui-Gon’s choices of late, but there was nothing he could do about any of them. He just had to move forward. To get down to Geonosis and dig out the Separatists and hope that, somehow, they’d manage to put out all the fires threatening to burn down the galaxy.

The impromptu little meeting broke up then. They all had so much to be doing, and not nearly enough time to do any of it in. Anakin shifted, not feeling up to a goodbye with Qui-Gon, and stiffened when Once called, “General. I was wondering where Ben was?”

Anakin’s jaw ached, a sudden, deep throb. “Busy,” he said, because he didn’t want them anywhere near one another. He didn’t want Ben near _any_ of them. He strode from the room before more questions could be asked of him. They had a fight to get ready for, in any case.

#

Qui-Gon recalled a time when Anakin had looked forward to fighting beside him on the battlefield. They had worked well with one another, once upon a time. The first time they had come to Geonosis, even, they had made terrible war upon their enemies.

He could not help but note the change upon their return. Geonosis remained an impossibly unpleasant world. The planet and its inhabitants did their best to kill them throughout the battle. They almost succeeded, more than once over the long days of fighting.

But they lived. They lived, but Anakin did not come to Qui-Gon afterwards with a smile on his mouth and a celebration in his heart. He’d felt closed off the entire battle. He’d felt closed off for a long time, the bond they’d shared shut and restricted.

Qui-Gon sighed, after the last of the battles ended. Anakin would never try to fix the coolness that had grown between them on his own. It was not in his nature. It would be up to Qui-Gon, so he shook his head and went to find his old apprentice, thinking back to their first battle on the planet.

It had not even been so long ago, truly, since Anakin had rushed blindly to rescue him, dragging Senator Amidala along. Qui-Gon had felt the emotions growing between them, seen them on display in the aftermath of the battle, and forbidden it. Such connections were dangerous, risky.

Anakin had listened to him about that, though Qui-Gon had felt how badly he _wanted_ . Anakin always _wanted_ more than he should have, and…. Perhaps he’d always been too hard on Anakin over it. Anakin did try to listen. It was just… difficult for him. Anakin had been brought to the Order already so jaded to the ways of the world. It couldn’t be helped.

Qui-Gon’s thoughts were heavy as he searched for his old Padawan. He knew Obi-Wan was safe, recovering on the _Fallen Star_. He’d taken some injuries in the battle, nothing serious, but with his health already impacted by the nerve damage, Qui-Gon felt put-on-edge by any new injuries.

Anakin he felt further away, still on the planet. The trooper manning the closest transport did not argue when Qui-Gon requested passage back down to the surface. Qui-Gon worked to treat the man normally. It was difficult, knowing that there was something inside of him, something none of them understood.

Qui-Gon set the thoughts aside, closing his eyes and seeking to center himself. He’d need all the calm he could muster to hold a civil conversation with Anakin, if their discussion in the days before the battle was to be any indication. He shook his head, following the impression of his apprentice off of the drop ship, across the ruined ground, into one of the few bunkers still standing.

Qui-Gon ducked to get through the doorway, wondering absently what Anakin was still doing on the planet. Qui-Gon could not get a good read on him, his emotions were clouded over. Picking at them further would only irritate Anakin. He’d never liked it when people pried, or so he said. It almost made Qui-Gon feel fond, turning another corner, aware of soft sounds and another familiar presence.

For a beat, as he looked over, he thought for sure it was Obi-Wan down there, impossibly.

And then he caught sight of them, took in what he was seeing, and froze.

Anakin was across a large room, on the other side of two panes of thick glass currently full of blaster holes. Blaster burns and the splatter of oil and blood partially obscured him, but Qui-Gon was used to peering through the confusion of a battlefield and making sense of what he saw.

He watched Anakin, one hand braced against the wall, over the shoulder of - of the man they called Ben. He’d leaned down, leaned far too close, they must have been touching. Kissing.

Ben had a hand resting on his chest, and for a moment all Qui-Gon could do was stare, disbelief rising within him and guttering out near immediately into disappointment.

He should have expected something like this. He _knew_ how people reacted to - to people who looked like Obi-Wan. He knew Anakin was predisposed to form attachments, to desire connections beyond what he should have wanted.

Surprise could hardly survive within Qui-Gon. He felt only bitter regret that he had not been able to do a better job. He should have taught Anakin better, made him understand the need to seek distance. Instead, Anakin was pushing closer, moving like some hungry beast.

Qui-Gon turned away, shoving his emotions down deep. There was nothing else he felt he could say to Anakin. He had made his decisions. He had decided to give into his desires, in the face of all reason, common sense, and advice.

Qui-Gon took a deep breath of the over-hot air outside the bunker, staring blankly forward at nothing. He’d tried with everything he had to be there for Anakin. To ensure he was safe, to ensure he grew to be a fine Jedi. And Anakin had turned his back on all of that, had decided not to listen to him. 

To _anyone_.

Qui-Gon clenched his jaw, marching back stiffly to his drop ship. He’d been a failure before. He knew the taste of it in the back of his mouth. He’d let down so many. But he would not fail anymore. He had Obi-Wan. He had one last chance to do things properly, to make right all the wrongs he’d left behind in his life.

“Everything alright, General?” his pilot asked, as he climbed back into the transport.

The question caught him by surprise, but he managed to recover after a moment. He nodded, tugging straight the straps on his harness. “Yes,” he said, past the weight in his chest and the tightness in his throat. “Yes, it is.”

#

Anakin hated Geonosis.The Force forsaken planet had cost him his hand. The war they’d all been embroiled in for so long had started there, and it was nothing but a ball of heat and sand. There was nothing to recommend it, nothing at all.

He led Ben away, into one of the destroyed bunkers, anyway, once the fighting was done and they were due to return to the ship. They’d have company aboard the _Resolute_ . Masters Unduli and Mundi were supposed to join them in transporting Poggle the Lesser back to Coruscant, which was… entirely too many Jedi by far to comfortably do what Anakin _needed_ to do.

They’d been surrounded by Jedi since they arrived on Geonosis. Anakin had guarded his thoughts the entire time, kept every worry he felt for Ben buried deep, every desire to check on him, to pull him closer and nuzzle back against his throat. And now they were going to go back to the _Resolute_ , where Unduli and Mundi would have nothing better to do than assess his emotional state.

Before that, he needed a moment’s silence, guiding Ben into a quiet hallway in an empty bunker. “You’re alright?” he asked, as they walked, voice already getting rougher. It had been a difficult fight. He’d thought he might lose Ahsoka, and then he’d thought they might lose Unduli, and through it all he’d been so kriffing worried about Ben.

It was distracting, this thing between them, just like Qui-Gon had always sworn it would be. He hated to admit his old Master was right, but it would be foolish to claim that Anakin didn’t do things, change plans, take risks, because he was factoring in the decisions that needed made to make sure _Ben_ survived.

He just wasn’t sure it was entirely a bad thing. He’d - he’d taken risks, yeah. But he’d fought harder, better, to ensure that this moment could happen, to secure Ben, currently looking up at him and smiling to say, “I’m fine, General.”

They’d been General and Lieutenant-Commander for too long, without any sort of break. And, finally, Qui-Gon was back on the _Fallen Star_ , Unduli and Mundi were on the _Resolute_ , there were no Padawans around. Anakin drew to a stop, turning towards Ben, cupping his jaw, leaning down, and breathing, “I think you should really call me Anakin,” against his mouth.

“Anakin,” Ben murmured, lips quirking into a smile before Anakin kissed him.

Anakin got distracted, lost in him. Ben made that easy, always had. There was too much tension between them, all built up over the exhausting stretch of battle. Anakin pushed closer to him, wanted to feel something good, something _pleasurable_ , instead of the aches in his body and the lingering sensation of death in his skull.

It was unfair that they couldn’t have this all of the time, that Qui-Gon thought he shouldn’t have it at all--

He jolted, sudden awareness of another presence cutting through the hungry wants in his thoughts. Qui-Gon was - was _close_ , his imprint in the Force cutting through Anakin’s distraction. He was _close_ , and Anakin had backed Ben against a wall, put hands on him, sunk so deep into their connection that he hadn’t even felt Qui-Gon’s approach.

His thoughts jumbled altogether. He had enough time - he thought - to push back, tug his robes straight, hope that the dim light hid the flush in his cheeks. He could have put on a little show. But - but anger at Qui-Gon, for everything he’d done, for trying to deny Anakin this, for wishing Anakin were Obi-Wan during his entire apprenticeship, filled him to the brim.

He _knew_ Qui-Gon was there, felt the burst of his shock and horror across their bond, and he didn’t pull back. He pushed forward, instead, sliding his fingers into Ben’s hair, deepening the kiss, rolling his hips just so to drag a startled gasp from Ben’s throat. He held his own emotions tight - it was easier to do that, currently, something about his connection to Ben gave him more control - and Qui-Gon’s distress burning like acid down his throat and into his stomach.

He expected, really, for Qui-Gon to shout, to tear them apart using the Force or his hands, to rain down fury on Anakin for all his failures. 

But, apparently, Qui-Gon didn’t even care enough to do that. Anakin pulled back, enough to press his forehead to Ben’s, when he felt Qui-Gon turn and walk away. He was probably headed back to his kriffing clone, his reproduction of the padawan he’d wanted all along. “Anakin,” Ben asked, hands gone suddenly gentle on him, “what’s--”

Anakin didn’t want him to finish the question. He didn’t want to think anymore about what was wrong. He tightened his fingers, felt Ben hiss, and kissed the sound out of his mouth. He knew how to work the clasps on Ben’s armor, dropping pieces to the ground without care. “Anakin,” Ben panted, when Anakin shifted attentions to his neck, tugging his robes open. “Wait, someone could--”

“I don’t care.” Anakin didn’t care, was beyond caring. Everything was _wrong_ , had been going wrong all his life or - or since the Type 2s appeared and threw everything into chaos. Qui-Gon didn’t care about him anymore, or maybe never had. The war was never going to end, and if it did, then _what_?

Anakin shoved at his robes, pushing fabric out of the way. Ben hesitated, he could feel the tension in Ben’s hands, his body. Anakin pushed want at him, across their connection, _need_ , because Force, but he _needed_.

Ben made a sound, choked, going suddenly pliant, pulling Anakin closer, going with it when Anakin hitched him _up_ , pushing him hard to the wall. Ben’s arms felt right around his neck and shoulders, his mouth felt right, his _body_ felt right, perfect, when Anakin pushed into him. It was rough and fast and Ben shook a bit, after, panting against the side of Anakin’s head.

Anakin held him there, eyes squeezed shut, Ben’s legs curled around him. Ben felt… hurt, a bit, across their connection, and not just with the nerve damage. Anakin winced, his anger and frustration fading to a manageable level. “I’m sorry,” he said, hoarse, easing Ben back to his feet. “I’m sorry, I--”

Ben slid a hand across his jaw, turning Anakin’s face, kissing his mouth, something soft and tender. It made the center of Anakin’s chest _ache_ with sudden sharp agony. He curled an arm around Ben, held him in the center of a ruined chamber, and kissed him soft until Ahsoka contacted him over comms, asking where, exactly, the kriff he was.

“We should get back,” he said, brushing his thumb across the line of Ben’s throat.

Ben nodded, and Anakin pulled at his pain, drawing it in. He knew how to manage pain, and Ben had too much, lately. Ben let out a shuddery breath, all relief, and Anakin kissed him one more time, before they finished straightening their robes.

No one looked askance when they boarded the _Resolute._ Masters Unduli and Mundi didn’t even give them a second look.

# 

Once felt General Jinn’s upset before he left the planet’s surface, a sudden surge of it brushed his mind. At first, he even thought hostilities had resumed, but there were no reports of that. Perhaps the General had argued with his apprentice again; he always felt out-of-sorts, curdling inside, after those disagreements.

His emotions left Once unsettled, which was unfortunate. The ache in his head, the pain that crept up into his skull from the base of his spine, still had not gone away. It lingered and lingered. He’d stopped visiting the medics about it. They couldn’t do anything, anyway.

The general consensus, as near as he could tell, was that it was a flaw in their design. _All_ of his brothers were reporting similar effects, across the fleet. Their nervous systems must have been miswired, or they were breaking down, or…

Well, Once was not an expert on the process that had created them. They were destined to live short lives, anyway. A breakdown of their central nervous system would likely shorten them, but nothing could be done about it, though General Jinn seemed convinced otherwise.

He was certain there could be procedures done, something to repair the damage. He’d pled such a case to the Council, before the battle began, and received approval, finally, to go to Kamino. It suited their purposes well enough and they had been waiting so very long. Once set those thoughts aside - and the pain, which never faded, no matter how the medics tried to treat it - and stood when he felt the General dock with the ship.

General Jinn looked grim, walking down the ramp of his transport. Sadness and despair radiated off of him. Almost definitely a fight with General Skywalker then, Once thought, drawing in a breath and reaching out to pull the emotions away.

The General turned to look at him immediately, bearing changing all at once. He straightened a bit and smiled, though there was tension still around his eyes and the corners of his mouth. “Obi-Wan,” he said, coming forward to clasp him by the shoulder. 

“Sir,” Once said. He’d gotten used to these displays. He knew very well how much the General needed them. They kept him stable. Already his mood was improving, though something cold and hard remained at the heart of him.

The General shook his head, smile turning rueful. “Qui-Gon, please. And now, I suppose we should be on our way to Kamino.”

Once nodded, and did not mention the sudden swell of dread rising up through him as he looked at General Jinn, a taste of blood in the back of his mouth, a flash of something in his chest, breaking.

He shook the thoughts aside. The nerve damage had to be getting worse.

#

Ahsoka barely had any time, after hostilities finished on Geonosis, to throw together a pack to leave again. She was supposed to join Barriss, to deliver some medical supplies, and she couldn’t find a kriffing puzzle she’d promised to show Barriss on the way.

She grumbled to herself, looking at her tossed bunk and crouching down to reach under it. She found nothing, scowling and pushing aside her desk. There was a pad, behind it, though no sign of the puzzle. She sighed, lifting the pad and wiping it off, turning it on absently. It must have contained the message she was drafting to General Plo Koon, she’d never found--

Her thoughts ground to a stop as she scanned over the open file on the pad.

She raised a hand shakily to turn on her comm, and said, her voice coming from far away, “Hey, Master. I think I need to talk to you. Right now.”

She was still standing in place in her quarters when he appeared. “What, Snips?” he asked, impatience creeping across their connection as he strode into her quarters. “I’ve got two Masters to wrangle, so I really don’t--”

She held out the pad, hitting him in the chest with it. He took it, frowning, opening his mouth and then shutting it as he read. “Is this a joke, because I….” He trailed off, looking over at her. She felt him probe her emotions. “Force, Ahsoka. This is dated more than two months ago.”

“I know,” she said, wrapping her arms around her chest. It had been horrifying, reading her own writing, a record of erased memories, of the fear that they would be erased again. And they _had been_. Someone had taken days of memories away from her, just wiped them from her mind. And not just her mind.

Anakin’s, too, because she didn’t feel any recognition, and jag of memory in his mind. Her notes said she’d told him all of this, once before.

He dragged a hand across his face; she felt the tension building inside of him, and wetted her lips. “I’ve been thinking,” she said, rubbing at her arms. “That, uh. The Type 1s, they have these chips in their heads, right?” Anakin turned to look at her, eyes wide and horrified. “And I told Rex about what I found, apparently. It says I did, right there. And he was _guarding_ me, Skyguy. He could have--” She waved a hand at the side of her head.

Anakin’s fingers tightened around the pad. It creaked under his grip. “Sithspit,” he breathed out, shaking his head. “Alright, that’s - that’s definitely a possibility.” His mouth twisted. “A very good possibility. So we’re not going to tell him, this time, alright?” He met her eyes, reaching out to grip her shoulder. “We’re not going to tell _anyone_ , you understand? Just you and me know about this, and we’re the only ones who are _going_ to know, alright?”

She nodded, some of the tension in her chest unwinding out. Anakin knew, and now he’d make this better. She might not always like or understand the methods Anakin used to resolve situations, but she couldn’t argue with his results.

He’d make this alright.

She exhaled, and said, “Alright.”

“And you’ll be off the ship,” he said, scowling down at the pad again. “Which is good. If someone _here_ did this…” He shrugged. “Don’t even tell Barriss about this, Ahsoka. I mean it.”

“I won’t,” she said, working to flash him a smile.

“Hey,” he said, stepping forward suddenly, pulling her into a fast hug. “It’ll be alright. We’ll figure this out.” She nodded against his shoulder, tension still roiling in her gut when he stepped back. “Come on,” he said, squeezing her shoulder. “We’ve got to get you down to the hangar.”

#

Masters Unduli and Mundi were primarily preoccupied with Poggle the Lesser, which was a relief. Anakin felt their attention bent towards the Separatist most of the time, and away from him. But they couldn’t focus on Poggle all the time.

He couldn’t risk calling Ben to his quarters in the night. He couldn’t even risk pulling him aside for a brief moment. He barely dared to reach across their connection to draw away some of Ben’s constant pain. He didn’t trust the way Unduli watched him, her dark eyes sharp and thoughtful.

Every time she stopped him to speak about their Padawans, he was sure she would look into his mind and pluck out an image of Ben, caught in his arms and his heart. He kept waiting for a message to come through from the Council. Surely, Master Qui-Gon must have told them by now, what Anakin _knew_ he had seen…

But no message came. He was issued no censure. Qui-Gon must have been waiting. Maybe for Anakin to come to help and offer explanations, beg for forgiveness. Well, he could keep waiting. He could _die_ waiting, Anakin wasn’t going to apologize for finally finding something that made him kriffing happy.

So, he kept his emotions locked tight around Unduli and Mundi, and he stayed professional with Ben, and he mentioned to no one the information Ahsoka had found. Someone aboard the _Resolute_ had erased her memories, and taken Anakin’s, as well.

He watched the troopers carefully, suspicion running down his back each time one entered a room. They had something in their heads, something that vibrated in the Dark side of the Force. No one knew what it did. Could it allow them to erase memories…?

He had no idea. He knew he should have messaged Qui-Gon about it, but--

Kriff Qui-Gon. Anakin would figure it out on his own. He’d figure it out with _Ben_ , once Mundi and Unduli were gone, and they could speak again. 

He scowled, holding all his thoughts inside, tightly. He’d developed a fine temper, knots of tension filling his mind, by the time he received a message from the Senate, informing them that they would be rendezvousing with a special representative to receive new orders. 

His life just kept getting better.

#

It felt strange, having so many Jedi aboard the _Resolute_. Ben kept his thoughts tucked away around them. Everytime he so much as glanced Anakin’s way, he felt an electric surge, sure they would see all the feelings roiling beneath his skin.

They paid him little mind. He’d noticed that many of the Jedi looked past him, as though they were simply erasing him from the space he occupied. It was not a strictly personal thing, be gathered. He watched Anakin do the same thing to Dace and Lorn, his brothers who had joined them aboardship. 

The Jedi didn’t do the same thing with the Type 1s. They didn’t act like there could be only one of them, that all the rest must just be dealt with as quickly as possible. His brothers didn’t have any explanations for why it happened, when Ben spoke with them, the three of them gathering in the bunk room, collecting glances from the Type 1s.

Dace and Lorn felt the same pain that had taken up lodging in Ben’s bones. They all did, apparently. _Our entire production line must be defective_ , Lorn thought, as they absently pretended to play cards. It was difficult to hold a real game when all the players could see inside each other’s heads. Lorn had shaved his head, leaving nothing but a thin red fuzz. He said Master Unduli didn’t know how to treat him, that she’d been friends with Kenobi, once upon a time. 

_Maybe_ , Dace said, laying down the winning hand with a little quirk of his mouth. A scar cut across one of his cheeks, poorly healed. It pulled his smile sideways. _I feel_ … He shifted, glanced around. _A pull_.

_Towards Coruscant_ , Ben finished, gathering the cards, shuffling. He hadn’t mentioned it to Anakin. They were going to Coruscant anyway, and he didn’t know what the urge _was_. It could have been another defect in their construction. It felt strange. Distant. Like an echoing call heard in a dream, pleading for… something.

He looked up, feeling a wash of sudden concern from Anakin. He didn’t shield it well enough, and felt both his brothers turn in his direction, eyes widening identically, eyebrows going up. Dace grinned his crooked grin, and thought, _Oh, you and General Skywalker?_

_Don’t_ , Ben said, flashing him a scowl. He felt only amusement from them, a sort of happiness for him as they sensed _his_ happiness.

_What’s that like?_ Lorn wanted to know, cocking his head to the side, probing. He sent a few images, curious imagings, and Ben pushed him back from his thoughts, standing and straightening his robes. They’d had no concept of “not your business” before leaving Kamino. It was something Ben had developed quickly, after Anakin kissed him for the first time. He wanted - it was _his_. Something just for him. He felt fiercely protective of it.

_It’s alright_ , Dace said. _We know how the Jedi are. Barriss is in love with Lorn, and--_

_Leave her be_ , Lorn cut in, sharp, a snap of irritation lashing out across their shared mental space. _She feels bad enough about it. Let her alone._

Dace snorted aloud, startling the nearest Type 1s, and said, “Fine, then.” He rose as well, following Ben’s lead as the doors to the barracks opened.

Anakin strode in, frowning, and his expression did something strange as he looked over at the three of him. Ben almost felt him editing Lorn and Dace out of the room. “General,” Ben said, inclining his head. Anakin felt… concerned about something. Frustrated. The frustration had been a running theme, since they picked up Masters Unduli and Mundi.

He could feel the way Anakin wanted him, especially at night. But they couldn’t risk any meetings, not with so many Jedi aboard. Things had been coolly professional between them, and would have to remain so.

Anakin cleared his throat and said, “Lieutenant-Commanders. We’re getting an unexpected guest. Admiral Tarkin. He’s requested your presence. All of you.”

# 

Anakin didn’t _like_ Tarkin. He’d tried. He really had. But something about the man made Anakin’s skin crawl. He looked at him and felt… a long shadow, stretching out towards the future, a familiar voice, crying out--

He shook his head. He’d done his best to set aside any premonitions he got from the Force, since his mother’s death. They never arrived in time to do anything useful. They were just useless signs and portents. But, still. The feeling was enough to ensure that he preferred not to have Tarkin around.

He’d been given no choice in the matter. The Senate rarely considered his preferences, after all. He’d barely even been given warning that Tarkin was going to intercept the _Resolute_ and board, apparently bringing with him orders too sensitive to transmit over comms. Anakin didn’t like that, either. Nor did he care for the fact that Tarkin had requested to speak with all Type 2s aboard.

He entered the conference room ahead of Ben and his brothers. Unduli and Mundi were already there, speaking quietly to Tarkin. “Ah,” Tarkin said, looking at them and narrowing his pale eyes. “Finally, we are all together.” He gestured. “Sit, this should not take much of your time.”

“What is _this_?” Anakin asked, remaining on his feet and crossing his arms. He had a bad feeling about this visit and couldn’t shake it.

Tarkin looked at him down the line of his nose, a feat considering that Anakin had inches of height on him. “New orders,” Tarkin said, activating the holo projector on the table. A small asteroid sprang into being, flickering for a moment before stabilizing. “The First Outpost.”

Anakin frowned at it. He didn’t recognize it and it was an ugly piece of rock, with fortifications poking out here and there from the surface. There were defense satellites orbiting it and, according to the information scrolling through the air it was-- “It’s orbiting a black hole?” Unduli asked, jerking her head towards Tarkin, surprise blossoming out of her.

“It is,” Tarkin said. “We think that’s why we were unable to locate it, before. The gravitational forces mask it’s signature from even our most advanced scans.”

“Then how’d you find it?” Anakin asked, frowning at it. He waved a hand. “And why do we care? Who’s first outpost is it? The Separatists?”

“We recently came into some information,” Tarkin said, his mouth quirking into a thin smile. “From a very reliable source. It allowed us to locate the station. And, yes, General. It is a Separatist base. According to our source, they keep primary control codes for their droids _and_ cruisers in the station.”

Anakin scowled at the display, reevaluating his initial impressions. The entire rock was fiercely fortified, which made sense if it contained even a portion of the materials claimed by this source. He leaned forward. “And you want us to attack it.”

Tarkin snorted. “No, dear boy. We want one of your Type 2s to lead a small force to the base, to retrieve the information _quietly_.”

The creeping feeling under Anakin’s skin sharpened. He turned to stare at Tarkin. “You couldn’t take this place with three cruisers.”

“On that we agree,” Tarkin said. “But a smaller group, moving quickly, and fortified by a connection to the Force should be--”

“Suicide,” Anakin snapped, a sour taste in the back of his mouth. “It would be suicide, and you’re an idiot if you don’t know that.”

“General Skywalker--” Mundi started, shifting from where he sat at the table, and Anakin frowned sharply over at him.

“You don’t agree?”

Mundi blinked, opened his mouth and closed it again. He glanced to the side. “It does appear…” he started, quietly, “Unlikely to succeed, Admiral. Even you must admit that.”

“We’ve seen the Republic pull off bigger miracles, when necessary.” Tarkin waved a hand, absently. “I’m sure they will be successful.” He looked past Anakin. “Lieutenant-Commanders, your orders are to--”

“I’m not sending my men on a suicide mission,” Anakin cut in, sharp. He’d lost enough, they’d all sacrificed _enough_. He knew Ben could be killed any time they went into battle. He accepted that. But he’d be Force damned if he agreed to send Ben to die on a mission with no hope of survival.

Tarkin gaped at him before visibly collecting himself. “You cannot just _refuse--_ ”

“With respect, sir: watch me,” Anakin said, turning and jerking his chin towards the door. He felt the buzz of Ben’s thoughts against his mind, confusion and worry. He put a hand on Ben’s arm, knowing where he was without looking, and nudged him towards the door. He said, over his shoulder, aware everyone was staring at him, “Come to me with a better plan, and we’ll revisit the issue.”

He marched down the hallway, thoughts humming, hand still wrapped around Ben’s arm. “Ana -- General--”

There was an empty room ahead, Anakin felt it. He waved the door open, drawing Ben in after him, turning to grab him by the shoulders. “I’m not letting them send you to die, Ben.” He wouldn’t. He _couldn’t_. Ben had gotten under his skin, somehow. Compromised him emotionally. 

Ben said, “Anakin, I,” staring up at him with big eyes, and Anakin slid fingers into his hair, pulling him close and tight, kissing him hard, uncaring, in that moment, about the other Jedi in the ship and what they had to be picking up from him.

“Stay away from Tarkin,” Anakin said, when he pulled back. Ben was watching him, expression stunned, beautiful. “I’m going to get this sorted out, alright?”

#

“Did you miss it?” Once asked, as they achieved orbit around Kamino. Cody glanced over and found him staring down at the planet below, their home, of a sorts. Once’s eyes were soft and his gaze distant, but there were still lines of pain around them. Cody had gotten used to seeing those lines, a constant reminder that something was wrong with Once.

He shook the thoughts away. “I suppose I did,” he said, before the silence stretched too long. It had been home, the only home he knew, for most of his life. Things had been structured on Kamino. Orderly. Some of his brothers had died - many had been injured - but there had not been the madness of a battlefield to contend with. He had woken up every morning knowing what to expect.

They’d all lost that privilege when they stepped out into the galaxy.

But he could also see that it had not been a life, really, on Kamino. They’d just… trained and learned. They’d been programmed, molded into what they needed to be and then shipped out, not unlike the droids the Separatists employed.

He used to think that at least control bolts would not work on them, that they were choosing to help, to fulfill their purpose, but that had stopped feeling like a comfort after Once found the thing in his head. “What about you? Happy to be home?”

Once kept staring down at the planet. He shook his head, after a moment. “No,” he said, his voice distant. “No, I have a bad feeling about coming here.” He looked up, then, over to Cody with his eyes bluer than the sea ever got. “But we have to. They might have the answers we need.” His gaze rose, momentarily, to focus on the side of Cody’s head. He reached out, almost touched Cody’s arm, before catching himself, and said, “We’ll figure it out.”

Cody glanced at his fingers, extended towards him, and almost shifted closer, but General Jinn entered the bridge then, issuing orders and breaking the moment that had stretched between them. Cody shook his head, hurrying to obey, to gather troopers, to move to the hangar, to prepare to drop to the planet’s surface.

The pressure changed, as they moved through the atmosphere. The smell of the ocean seemed to creep into the transport, though Cody knew it was only sense memories. He’d spent so many years breathing in the ocean tang. He’d never forget it. The gravity felt right when they set down on a landing spar - rain beat down on all of them, it was always raining on Kamino - and he stood, for a moment, feeling oddly settled in his bones.

He _had_ missed it. This place would always be home, no matter what else it was. He glanced over at Once, expecting to see similar emotions reflected on his face, but he just looked worried and hurt, the rain plastering his hair to the sides of his head and running down his cheeks, so disturbingly like tears that Cody started.

“Come on,” General Jinn said, sweeping past them, cloak snapping in the thunderous winds. “Let’s go speak with Master Shaak Ti.”  
#

It was difficult to picture a planet more different than Geonosis, Qui-Gon thought, ducking out of the rain and into the primary facility on Kamino. He liked neither planet. There was a part of him that wished he’d never found this place, never discovered the Type 1s, never gone to Geonosis and taken the final step in starting the war…

But none of that could be changed. Master Shaak Ti seemed pleased to see them. Officially, they were supposed to be visiting Kamino to get answers about the pain response Obi-Wan and his brothers were experiencing. Qui-Gon planned to; it worried him fiercely. Obi-Wan had felt enough pain in his life, he didn’t need _more_.

But the chips were a concern, as well. And the chips they could not ask about directly. He looked at Shaak Ti, with her calm smile and neatly arranged robes, and did not dare even to mention it to her. He no longer knew who to trust. She had been on Kamino so long, could she really not have known already?

He shook the thoughts aside, smiling at her over a cup of tea as she told him of current troop training and the adjustments the Council had made to the curriculum of the Type 1s. He made all the appropriate comments and said, “Perhaps you could show me the testing grounds,” to pull her along, leaving behind Once and Cody, to find what could be found.

#

Cody hadn’t received more than basic training in stealth missions. Commanders didn’t generally. But it was easier to avoid notice when working with someone who could sense other people coming. Once led him deeper into the compound, past the doors that were supposed to only be entered by the Kaminoans, sometimes gripping his arm to stop his forward progress.

They kept their silence as they went. They were not, by any stretch of the imagination, supposed to be doing what they were doing, General Jinn’s orders or not. The idea of disobedience burned in the back of Cody’s throat, unpleasant, but he pushed through it. There was a thing in his head, it had to have its origin _here_.

He needed to know what it was. He needed to know why the medics had replaced it immediately after Once disrupted it. So he swallowed his unease, coming to a stop when Once put a hand against his chest. They both pressed against the wall. Cody held his breath, listening for footsteps, for any sign of what Once had sensed.

He heard nothing, but after a moment Once nodded and started moving forward again. No one called out to them, no one raised an alarm, so their subterfuge must have been so far successful.

They plunged deeper into the complex, following vague schematics they’d found of the structure, heading for the medical wing. Once led him along, ducking, finally, into a large room filled with computer consoles and one medic droid, which pivoted to face them immediately, saying, far too loudly, “Oh, dear, I’m afraid you aren’t permitted--”

Once stretched out a hand. There was a brief crackle and then a puff of smoke from the droid’s neck. It swayed, gravity grabbing at it and pulling it downwards. Cody jerked forward, grabbing it before it could clatter to the ground and lowering it carefully. Once had shut the door by the time he finished, moving to the screens.

“Did anyone hear him?” Cody asked, pitching his voice quiet. His heart beat at his ribs. His hands felt itchy. He double-checked that he had his blaster at his hip. He received no immediate answer. “Once?”

“Maybe,” Once said, not taking his eyes off of the screens.

Cody swore softly and leaned his shoulders against the door. “Maybe?” Once shook his head just a little. He blinked his eyes a few times, started to raise his hands away from the controls, and caught himself. “Are you alright?”

“I….” Once shook his head, more vigorously. “Look, I think this is…” He gestured at the screen and stepped back, raising one hand to his head. His shoulders curled down.

Cody ignored the screens. He gripped Once by the arm, worry spiking suddenly down through his spine. “What’s wrong?”

“I… something’s, I feel something, I--” And he bent at the waist, all at once, as though taking a blow. He made a sound, low and hurt. 

“Once!” Cody gripped at him, adjusting his grip. He tilted Once’s face up, needing to see how bad this was going to be, thinking about nerve damage, about the degradation of Once’s central nervous system, and found his eyes blown wide, horrified. “What’s the kriff is happening?”

“My brothers,” Once said, staring up at the ceiling, his pupils tiny, his breath coming fast and stuttering. “The small ones. Someone’s - someone’s killing them - they’re all -” He shuddered, all over.

Cody looked around the tiny room, the information on the screens flashing, almost mockingly. “What?”

And Once shifted, touching his cheek. Sensation flooded into Cody’s head, into his bones, strange, terrible, and twisting. He felt bright sparks of confusion and panic. Shifting to pain. Disappearing. He jerked, demanding, the words a bark, but they weren’t going to need stealth anymore, not in roughly ten seconds, “Where? Where’s it happening?”

Once leaned against him, panting raggedly, “ _Here_.”

Cody raised a hand to his radio, still feeling aftershocks in his head, some echo of what Once felt. “General Jinn,” he snapped, his stomach in a tight, hard knot. “Sir, we have a problem.”

And that was when the alarms started going off.

#

Tarkin wasn’t subtle about tracking Ben down. Ben felt him coming from levels away, because the man was broadcasting out his irritation so clearly. Ben opened his eyes, giving up on the meditation he’d sunk into to clear his thoughts after the meeting earlier, after Anakin had pulled him aside, after their kiss.

He could still feel Anakin’s mouth, pressed against his, the curl of Anakin’s emotions around his mind, into his bones. They never talked about it, really. What they were to one another. What they were _doing_. When was there time? The few scant moments of privacy they got were always… otherwise occupied.

But he could _feel_ so much from Anakin. He read Anakin more clearly than anyone else, save his brothers. They’d remained connected, since the tether. He _knew_ Anakin meant the things he said. He _knew_ Anakin wanted him, even if sometimes he still felt so angry.

It left him feeling overfull, in his chest. He couldn’t control it, even with the meditation. It filled him up, a sense that he was - was wanted. _Loved_. It buoyed him up, even as Tarken finally reached the door and opened it. 

“Lieutenant-Commander,” Tarken said, stepping in and shutting the door. “I really do need to speak with you.”

Ben stood. Tarkin made his skin crawl, emotion that he thought was bleeding over from Anakin. He nodded at the man. “I’m afraid I’ve been ordered not to speak with you, sir.”

Tarkin flushed, color forming blotchy stains on his cheeks. He took a step forward. “Well,” he said, a sneer on his mouth, “that is--”

Ben blinked, his hearing going far away for a breath as something else flooded in to fill his senses. He felt… great fear. Pain. Death. He took a step back, shaking his head, trying to dislodge the disorienting rush of _loss_. His brothers were - were dying - they were - 

He reached for his comm, blinking his eyes as the room momentarily filled with light. “General,” he managed, grinding the word out through his throat. “I need--”

Anakin was already pushing into the room, shouldering Tarkin aside. Ben felt more than saw him, his presence in the Force a soothing balm. “What’s going on,” he said, putting a hand on Ben and turning to glare at Tarkin, his Force signature flaring with anger.

“It’s my brothers,” Ben said, sharing the barest edge of it, across their connection, feeling Anakin jerk under his touch. “Someone’s killing them. The small ones.”

Anakin flinched, keying on his own comm, barking orders across the line to change their course, to charge forward, engines open, straight for Kamino.

They wouldn’t make it in time. Ben knew that already, reaching out to steady himself on the wall, feeling them die and die and die and die and-- 

#

Qui-Gon looked over at Shaak Ti as the world went mad all around them. In his ear, Cody said, “Someone’s killing the Type 2s, the small ones.” Alarms blared overhead. And around all that, beyond it utterly, he felt Obi-Wan, full of shock and horror.

He turned away from Shaak Ti, drawn into motion without decision or thought. “Where are the - the Type 2s at,” he demanded, over his shoulder, as he went. He felt her following, but it was a distant concern.  
“What?” she asked, and Qui-Gon shook his head.

There was a Kaminoan in the hall outside the room where they had met. Qui-Gon grabbed her arm. “What’s going on? The alarms, what are they for?”

She gazed at him, her expression placid as ever, for all that he felt concern pouring off of her. “One of our other facilities,” she said, blinking her large eyes, “a ship sent from the Senate requested to land, they had clearance, but something has gone wrong--”

“Where is it?” He threaded the Force through the words, because they were wasting time, precious seconds they couldn’t afford to lose. He felt Obi-Wan getting closer, his pain and reflected fear sour in the back of Qui-Gon’s throat.

The Kaminoan blinked again. “On an archipelago far from here.”

A door burst open behind Qui-Gon. He glanced over a shoulder, unsurprised to find Cody and Obi-Wan there, both of them looking grim. Shouts of protest and alarm came through behind them. None of that mattered at the moment. Qui-Gon looked back at the Kaminoan, drawing on the Force, and said, “You will give me the coordinates, now.”

He felt her mind submit to his will, stepping away from her as soon as she gave him what he needed. Shaak Ti followed as he turned, running down the hall. Obi-Wan fell in beside him, without word or orders, and they burst out into the pouring rain altogether. 

“Sir?” the pilot of the drop ship asked, as they charged in. “I’m picking up distress calls from--”

“Take us to them,” Qui-Gon snapped, turning to look across the few troopers they’d brought along, Obi-Wan, Cody, and Shaak Ti. He had no idea what to expect from the other facility, but he could feel the death coming from it. It echoed across the surface of the planet. There was a slaughter going on. Brutal and cruel and--

He shook his head to clear it. Focus. He needed focus, to calm the turmoil of his thoughts. 

Cody steadied Obi-Wan as they lifted off, and Qui-Gon resolved to speak to him again, but later. None of them spoke, during the flight across the roiling ocean. Obi-Wan kept his head bowed, his eyes pressed closed and his lips pale. Qui-Gon reached for him across their bond and got back only pain, terrible agony.

It felt as though he were dying, over and over again.

Qui-Gon shuddered, swallowing bile, trying to release the inappropriate worry he felt, the anger.

He needed to focus on the Republic ship docked at the other facility. It was a sharp looking model. “The _Excelsior_ ,” their pilot said, bringing them in to land at an adjacent docking platform. He looked over his shoulder as the ship settled. “She was reported stolen a few days ago, Sir.”

Qui-Gon did not spare the breath to swear. He merely turned, hesitating for a moment as he looked at Obi-Wan. He felt… something humongous and dreadful in the Force. The shadow of it loomed over them, hinting at the shape of things to come.

He almost ordered Obi-Wan to remain in the ship, but he looked at his face, at his eyes, open and wide, and knew he would be ignored. Obi-Wan had always done what he knew to be the right thing, regardless of what Qui-Gon ordered him to do. He shook his head, and said, “Follow my lead. Get us more men down here, Commander.”

#

Outside of the complex, rain soaked them and wind yanked at their robes. The sound of the storm was deafening. The inside of the complex is a different kind of nightmare.

Once took a breath and smelled blood, blaster fire, and droids. They had a stench all of their own, metal and grease and circuitry. He heard the clicking movement of their limbs, the echo of their voices, over the cries of young voices. His brothers. 

His brothers were being slaughtered. He felt each death, a little piece of him, cut away and erased. They were dying and the younger ones were so frightened, confused. Most of the older ones were dead already, cut down by blaster bolts and - and -

Lightsabers. Once had a flash of vision, swirling sabers, four of them, cutting through the air and bodies with the same amount of difficulty. He croaked, “Grievous.” Ahead of him, General Jinn stiffened, turning to look over a shoulder. “Grievous is here.”

“Sithspit,” Cody growed, checking his blaster. 

Shaak Ti walked past them, over to the edge of the hall, kneeling by the first of the bodies they came upon. A Kaminoan. He had fallen half-over one of Ben’s brothers. They were both empty-eyed. Dead and cold. 

“Follow me,” General Jinn snapped, and Once did without hesitation. The General _knew_ what he was doing, he was not overwhelmed by all that was happening, or, rather, he was. Once could _feel_ the surging maelstrom inside him. But he was leading them onward, anyway.

They moved quickly through halls full of bodies, the dead left to lie where they fell. They reached a hasty barricade held by droids. They cut them down, moving together easily. He could read what General Jinn expected of him. He could follow the steps of a dance learned by limbs other than his. In that moment, his connection to the Force blown wide by the deaths of his brothers, it felt as easy as breathing.

He did not think about taking the lead as he sliced off the head of the last droid in their path. It just felt right. He knew where the atrocity was occuring. He felt it, like a hook inside his chest, pulling him on. He stalked forward, knowing that General Jinn followed him, with Shaak Ti, with Cody, with the rest of their troopers.

They felt far away. There was only the black hole pull of his brothers’ horror and desperate need for help. It drew him on, through more droids, through the halls of the dead.

He was vaguely aware that the complex was coming apart around them. He just didn’t care. His focus dragged him forward, towards something that felt cold and final in the Force, a warning he could not heed.

#

Everything had gone completely to shit, Cody considered, running through the facility. Explosions were going off, here and there. He wished they’d find someone living, so he could ask some questions, but that seemed to be a losing proposition. He swore as they passed a computer console that wasn’t sparking uselessly.

He felt General Shaak Ti stop beside him as he waved the rest of his men onward, after General Jinn and Once. There was going to be no stopping them, he could see that well enough. “What’s going on here, Commander?” General Shaak Ti asked, her saber still lit and in hand.

Cody scrolled through warning notification after warning notification, each report tightening the cold clench of his gut. “The ship opened fire before landing. And the droids have set off some kind of auto destruct. The complex is coming apart.”

“How long do we have?” she asked, her voice calm despite their circumstances.  
“Not long.” Cody scrubbed a hand across his mouth, turning away from the console. He could hear blaster fire from further down the hall. General Jinn and Once were cutting their way through the facility. 

“We need to evacuate,” Shaak Ti said, taking his place at the console. Cody left her to it. He did not say that he wasn’t sure there was going to _be_ anyone to evacuate. She didn’t need him to tell her. He gripped his blaster, started forward, and tripped when the pylon below them gave way.

#

The facility was coming apart. Qui-Gon picked up that much from Shaak Ti as they rolled onward, drawn irrevocably forward. It was coming apart, and so it was not a surprise when the hall they were in began to crumble. Qui-Gon leapt, drawing on the Force, clearing the distance as pieces of the hallway plunged into the ocean below.

Obi-Wan slid to a landing beside him, rain whipping in around them. A gap of perhaps fifty feet separated them from the rest of the facility. The waves churned below, swallowing up a flash of white armor, dragging the doomed trooper down to the depths. The other troopers clustered against the distant opening.

Qui-Gon stared at them, for a moment, and then shook his head. They were no more use, now. And Obi-Wan was already on his feet, moving, his head tilted down and his jaw clenched. He carried a saber in each hand, his knuckles clenched white, standing against his skin. 

Grievous was ahead. Close. Qui-Gon could feel him, by that point, the empty spot of him in the Force. He focused on that as they marched grimly on, past bodies that dug into him, each one a fresh slash of agony. It was like walking through Obi-Wan’s life, and finding him brutally murdered with each step.

Here was a boy who could have been Obi-Wan, the day Qui-Gon accepted him as apprentice, his eyes wide open and empty, one of his arms just missing. Here was a child even younger, round-cheeked, carved open. There were so many of them, so many, and Qui-Gon had failed them all, the same way he’d failed Obi-Wan, whose impossible ghost strode ahead of him, shining in the Force with determination and terrible purpose.

Qui-Gon felt disconnected. As though he were floating above the situation, looking down at all of the death and the agony through the Force. He heard screams up ahead. He knew, before he looked, that he would find Grievous as their cause.

The monstrosity had found a large room. There were beds in it. Small beds. There were bodies, so many bodies, strewn around the space, their blood staining the white walls, the white sheets. One figure, slightly larger than the rest, stood in front of a group of children and Grievous _laughed_ when he--

Obi-Wan cried out, anger and horror in the sound, and leapt forward. Qui-Gon moved without thought to follow. Grievous spun towards them, immediately, children momentarily forgotten, though he kept laughing, that terrible, rattling sound.  
“General Jinn,” he said, wheezing as Obi-Wan launched a full scale assault against him. Qui-Gon moved to attack his flank, awash in the full scope of Obi-Wan’s turmoil. He’d felt these emotions before, from his apprentice. Long ago. On Naboo. “How good to see you here.”

“ _Shut up_ ,” Obi-Wan snarled, and _pushed_ , shoving the construct backwards and jumping after him, moving him further from the children. He was aglow, awash in the Force, and Qui-Gon had seen that, before, too. It snagged at his attention, memories of that day, so long ago, creeping up on him as they fought, exchanging one blow after another with Grievous.

Obi-Wan had fought Darth Maul on Naboo, fought him alone, as Qui-Gon waited, trapped behind a barrier that would not allow him to assist. Obi-Wan had fought him and _died_ , died striking the killing blow, lived just long enough to breathe his last breath in Qui-Gon’s arms, feeling tired and like a failure, as Qui-Gon’s heart broke and--

And Qui-Gon saw the blow coming, as though time itself slowed down to allow it. He _saw_ Obi-Wan slice through one of the General’s arms, and knew Grievous had sacrificed the limb to gain the advantage for a killing blow. He knew already what it felt like to hold Obi-Wan as he died. 

Qui-Gon moved, faster than he could remember moving ever in his long life. It was not difficult. There was no thought to it, no decision to be made. He blocked one of Grievous’s sabers, hacked the limb off cleanly, and only sighed, softly, when the other, the one he could not have stopped, slid through his chest.

#

Obi-Wan cried out, stung by the wash of second-hand pain and the horrible relief that accompanied it, spilling from Qui-Gon’s mind into his own, agony crossing the bond they’d formed alongside a fierce, bittersweet joy.

Once felt the blade slide through Qui-Gon’s body. He flinched, full-bodied, struck by the pain of it. He stumbled back a step, as Qui-Gon went to his knees. Grievous jerked back as well, thrashing, down two arms in as many seconds. The beast reeled. Qui-Gon folded up, his pain echoing into Once’s mind, and behind him his brothers wept and huddled together.

The madness of it threatened to swamp Once, to overwhelm him with sheer intensity. But he had gotten used to pushing everything aside. To burying all the things he could not handle. He shoved the pain, the shock, the horror, all of it, to one side, until there was nothing but quiet in his mind.

And then he moved forward.

Grievous _hissed_ at him, like an animal, lashing out with the limbs he had left. He seemed slow. Once knew what he was going to do, saw it so clearly, long before he moved. He felt calm and utterly still inside, both sabers in hand, carving into the beast.

It said something, spoke words, but Once couldn’t hear them. He pulled on more of the Force, taking from his brothers what he needed, drowning himself in it. He sliced off another of the beast’s arms and watched it scramble away from him. It dragged its body across the floor. It raised it’s last remaining arm, though it held no saber, as though to fend him off, as though to plead for mercy.

It was still speaking. Once felt the vibrations of the noise, but the words did not register. He batted the arm aside with the Force, stepped over its body, and carved it in twain. In one moment it was a living thing. In the next, a shell. Once took a breath, pulling air into his lungs, and yanked his lightsabers free from the beast. He took a step back from it and stumbled.

His heartbeat filled his ears. Pain began to creep into his awareness, returning to tell him of the cost of battle. He felt his grip on the Force easing as he let go, as he gave back what he’d taken from all of his brothers, including the surviving children, huddled and weeping in the far corner of the room. 

The calm, empty space in his mind filled back up as he turned in a small circle, taking in the ruin of his world. His gaze landed on General Jinn. He lay on his side. He had not moved, not since Once felt the terrible burst of pain across their bond. He lay, still, sprawled across the filthy ground. 

“General!” Once cried out, rushing over and falling by his head. Qui-Gon breathed still, but shakily, wetly. His hair spread out around him. He blinked up, dazedly, as Once yanked at his tunics, trying to get to the injuries below.

Qui-Gon caught his hands, squeezing, his throat clicking oddly before he managed to say, “Not… General.”

Once’s eyes burned. He felt death stealing in around them, deforming the flow of the living Force with it’s touch. He knew a fatal wound when he saw one. He tried to push healing energy down into Qui-Gon’s chest, anyway, and Qui-Gon coughed, shaking his head. “It’s alright,” he rasped, gripping still at Once’s hands.

“It’s--we have to get you help,” Once said, looking up, hoping wildly that Cody and his men would flood into the room in that moment. “General--”

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon interrupted, chiding, and he reached up far enough to touch Once’s face, turning him back. He looked--blood crept out at the corners of his mouth. His eyes were going distant. “It is alright. I got… the chance to do it right, this time. I… saved you.” He smiled, and it lanced up into Once’s chest.

He shook his head, tightening his grip on Qui-Gon. “Sh,” he pleaded. “Sh, General, you have to save your energy, you--”

“Please,” Qui-Gon panted, his hand sliding down, landing heavily on Once’s shoulder, his fingers hooking into his tunic. “Not General.”

Death pressed in around them. Once breathed it in and choked on it. He had not asked for the bond Qui-Gon forced into his mind. He had not asked to serve as a stand-in for a dead man. He hadn’t _wanted it_. But Qui-Gon was dying, dying because he had taken a blow meant for Once, and Once could feel, through the bond between them, how badly Qui-Gon needed their connection.

He’d always been able to feel it. And he’d never been able to cause the man harm.

He closed his eyes, bending his head to press his face against the top of Qui-Gon’s head. “Master. Qui-Gon,” he said, his voice breaking, “please, save your strength.”

“Ah,” Qui-Gon said, joyful through the Force, joyful and relieved, as though some great burden had finally been lifted from him. He sagged into Once, all the remaining strength going out of him as he breathed, “my Padawan.”

He did not breathe in again.

Once pulled him closer and wept bitter tears that left him feeling hollow inside, tears for a man whose face he’d taken and for Qui-Gon and, even, for himself. He was still holding Qui-Gon’s body when footsteps echoed in the hall. He looked up, dazed and dizzy-headed, to watch Cody charge into the room, a squad at his heels.

“You’re too late,” he said, the words seeming to come from far away as he held Qui-Gon’s body in his lap.


	6. Chapter 6

Word came of Qui-Gon’s death as Anakin reached the bridge. All thoughts of a daring rescue - he  _ would  _ rush to his Master’s aid, even furious with him - were dashed to pieces by the report. He felt the troopers on the bridge turning to look at him, gazes cautious, as he stood frozen in the doorway. He felt Ben behind him and Tarkin beyond that and--

And he should have felt Qui-Gon die. But he’d shut down the bond between them, all his anger at Qui-Gon’s ridiculous choices leading him to it. He moved into the room numbly, probing the spot in his mind where the bond had lived and finding it-- Broken. There was no connection on the other side, nothing to connect  _ to _ .

He reached out a hand and gripped the nearest console, struggling to keep his breathing even. He swallowed, trying to think past the emotion roiling under his skin, inside his mind. “What happened?” he managed to ask, his tongue thick and useless in his mouth. “Do we know?”

Rex cleared his throat. “There was an attack on one of the facilities on Kamino. Apparently Grievous was there. He’d snuck in using a Republic ship, and--”

“Where’s Grievous now?” Anakin cut in. He wanted - needed - to kill something. To make someone - something - pay for this. He’d hunt that monstrosity down and end it, the way it should have been ended long ago. But first he’d make it suffer, make sure it knew the cost of its actions, hurt it the way he hurt--

“Dead, sir,” Rex said, looking over from his console. “The Type 2 with General Jinn killed him.”

Anakin ground his jaw together. It should have been  _ him _ . By rights, he should have taken revenge - sought justice - for his Master’s death. But of course, that had been taken from him, too. The hot, squirming anger down his spine curled a little tighter around his bones. He snapped, “Take us there.”

Qui-Gon had died, was lost to him,  _ taken  _ from him, but Anakin had other duties. He would need to - to lay out Qui-Gon’s body, properly. Make sure he was sent on the correct way. He could do that much, at least.  _ That  _ hadn’t been taken from him.

“General…” Ben said, quietly, standing a few paces away. Anakin could  _ feel  _ his concern, pushing at their connection. And how dare he presume to feel  _ concern _ for Anakin. It was his fault, Anakin realized, with a sharp little twist under his ribs. He’d - he’d distracted Anakin, wrapped him up, convinced him to ignore the Code. Because of him, Qui-Gon had turned away from Anakin, left Geonosis without even a goodbye.

But Anakin couldn’t say any of that, not on the bridge. He scowled down at the screen in front of him, gripping tight at his emotions. “Not right now,” he snapped, and felt Ben take a little step back from whatever Anakin projected at him. He caught surprise and hurt across their connection and felt a sick sort of pleasure in it.

Someone deserved to hurt, for all of this.

And Anakin would make sure they did.

Their trip to Kamino was a silent, tense affair. Anakin’s thoughts stayed focused, sharp, on getting to the planet, on sorting everything out. He barely registered the situation with Ahsoka and Barriss and some kind of mind control monsters from Geonosis. He knew, vaguely, that he should have worried; Master Unduli was worried, certainly. She even gave her clone permission to go see to the situation.

Anakin knew Ahsoka could take care of herself. And it was hard to worry about her, through the anger inside of his chest. He could not muster concern about the facility on Kamino that had collapsed into the sea, or the survivors that Qui-Gon had died for: more copies of Obi-Wan, of kriffing course. 

What did any of it  _ matter _ ? It was all just noise. Ben’s occasional brushes against his mind, full of - of comfort Anakin didn’t want, not from him, made him more furious. The sight of his face, alive when Qui-Gon was dead, made Anakin’s teeth grind together. They didn’t speak again, not beyond a few curt words, not the entire trip to Kamino.

Anakin was waiting in the hangar bay, when they came alongside the  _ Fallen Star _ . He was already in his fighter, vaguely aware that others were following him in a transport. He didn’t care what anyone else did. Not yet. He’d deal with them all later.

Troopers turned to look at him when he boarded the  _ Fallen Star _ . They watched him move through the halls, murmuring to each other, offering him directions to Qui-Gon’s body. Anakin clenched his hands to fists, his jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached, and moved forward, some tiny, childish part of him sure this would turn out to be a joke.

He would walk into the room and Qui-Gon would be fine, he would have done this to show Anakin the folly of emotion, he would--

Anakin stepped into the room and found Qui-Gon laid out on his back.

#

Cody found Once sitting, his back to the door, in front of the body. The room smelled clean, but not sterile, almost minty. Some incense the Jedi liked to burn smelled that way. It was dim, in the room, but not so dim that he couldn’t General Jinn, gone corpse-pale and terribly still, for all that his hair had been neatly combed, his hands folded serenely over his chest. There was a faint shimmer over him, a status field. Were it not for Once’s posture, Cody could have believed that he, too, had died. His shoulders seemed not to move with breath. He stayed still when Cody stepped forward.

He had sat there, through the night, his legs bent, his head bowed. He’d been silent since they fled from Kamino, the last of the surviving Type 2s in tow, back to the  _ Fallen Star _ . He’d had them bring General Jinn’s body to this room and then calmly taken them to the door and turned his back. 

Cody hadn’t been able to stand there and watch him clean and arrange the body. Someone had to - to contact the Kaminoans and the Senate, to let them know what had happened. It was his job, now. Until he was given a new posting, or they assigned another General to the 212th, or…

The future yawned, open and full of uncertainty. Cody had pushed all that away, done the job in front of him, and only then went back to check on Once. He’d been sitting in the room, on his heels, his hands in his lap, staring at nothing. Cody had let him. They all had. But it had gone on for long enough.

Cody approached Once carefully, keeping one eye on the body. The General was peaceful in death, still in a way he’d rarely been in life. His face looked foreign without any evidence of emotion. All of the blood had been washed out of his beard; Once’s work. No one else had touched the body. A blanket was pulled up over the General’s long frame, hiding the terrible wound in his chest. It was not stained. The lightsaber had, at least, cauterized the injury and spared Jinn that indignity.

Cody shook his head, looking away from the corpse, down at the top of Once’s bowed head. He had not washed. His hair lay flattened with sweat and droplets of blood, darkened. His hands lay in his lap; not folded, peacefully, but clenched into two hard fists, pressing against his stomach. He’d taken injuries, but Cody had been told he’d turned all the medics away. Cody winced. “Once?”

“Go away,” Once said, quiet and flat. He did not twitch. He did not seem to breathe.

Cody swallowed, uncomfortable in the room, drowning in the atmosphere. It almost pushed him out, it nearly made him flee. But the bow of Once’s neck, the flesh stretched thin across his knuckles, they anchored Cody into place. They drew him closer. He knelt, slowly, unsure what to say, what could possibly fill the void around them, and finally saw Once’s face.

There was no emotion in his eyes, nor in the shape of his mouth, but tears clumped his eyelashes to one another and soaked the collar of his robes. They’d dried on his skin, here and there, leaving white remnants of salt behind. Cody breathed a curse, the shock of the tears punching up under his ribs, terrible and surprising. He thought he smelled salt in the air.

“I felt him die,” Once said, as though in response to Cody’s exclamation. He sounded dispassionate, quiet, while his hands twisted more tightly together. He had not looked away from General Jinn’s body. He had not blinked since Cody knelt beside him. “It hurt. The way it hurts when my brothers die.”

Cody stared at the side of his face, adrift as he always seemed to feel around Once. Words evaded him, darting away from his tongue when he thought he finally captured them. He reached out, left with nothing but touch, and gripped Once’s shoulder, just as someone else charged into the room.

General Skywalker loomed in the doorway, eyes wild and mouth twisted into some cruel expression. His hair hung around his face and his dark robes made him look half a shadow. He jerked to a stop just inside the door, gaze locked on General Jinn’s body. He didn’t seem to be breathing, either.

Cody looked at him, back at Once, at the body, not sure where to start or what to say. He hadn’t realized the  _ Resolute  _ was so close. He stood and cleared his throat. “Sir--”

Skywalker snapped his head to meet Cody’s eyes and there was something dark in his gaze, dark and furious. He didn’t look at Cody long, barely an instant, before his attention shifted, down to Once, still staring forward at nothing.

Cody watched Skywalker’s expression contort and knew everything was about to go to shit. He didn’t even need access to the Force to feel it coming. He tensed, starting, “General--”

“Who the kriff touched him?” Skywalker demanded, but he wasn’t looking at General Jinn’s body. His attention stayed right on Once. He took a step forward. Cody put an arm out, automatically, battlefield instincts all firing at once in his head. “Who laid him out?”

Once still wasn’t looking, just sitting there, head bowed. He said, “You know I did it.”

“Kriffing--” Skywalker moved, and Cody put a hand on his chest, stepping between them, grunting, a moment later, when he impacted the wall. His ears rang, as he slipped towards the floor. He tasted blood in his mouth.

“Commander!” Once said, and it was the first time Cody’d heard anything approaching life in his voice. “What--”

Cody shook his vision clear in time to watch Skywalker haul Once to his feet, hands fisted in his robes. He’d stood by the time Skywalker twisted, shoving Once against the nearest wall, looming over him, a dark shape that cast Once in shadow. He was snarling, “You had  _ no kriffing right _ . He was  _ my Master _ . How  _ kriffing dare you-- _ ”

“He wanted me to,” Once said, sounding small and tired. His expression still hadn’t changed. He was just staring vaguely past Skywalker, not even looking at him. And even Cody knew it was the wrong thing to say, if there was a  _ right  _ thing to say. 

Skywalker made a sound, a barked exhalation, maybe a laugh. “What the kriff do you know about what he wanted, you worthless kriffing clone--”

“I felt it,” Once interrupted, gaze distant, far away. Skywalker stiffened across his shoulders. Cody moved closer to them, ignoring the pain radiating out of his left arm. He could see other troopers, outside the door, all of them wound up tight. There was a certain dread in knowing that Skywalker could probably kill all of them, if he really wanted to. Including Once.

“You  _ felt  _ it,” Skywalker scoffed, expression twisted, just like his hands in Once’s robes. He shifted his weight, putting all of it on one hand

“General,” Cody started, hand resting on his blaster. “I think you should just--”

“Yes,” Once still sounded dreamy. Like he wasn’t really in the room with them. “I felt--”

Skywalker moved terribly quickly. The blow landed across Once’s face before Cody could move, jerking forward to grab Skywalker and physically pull him back. Once’s head snapped to the side, he coughed; Cody saw the splatter of bright, fresh blood. 

Cody bulled Skywalker back, the General shoving at him, going still, for a moment, when Cody leveled his blaster. Skywalker glowered at him over it, expression like a nightmare, and said, “Stand aside, trooper, that’s an order.”

Cody flexed his fingers, listening to Once pant behind him. His heart beat like a hammer on the inside of his ribs. He saw Skywalker’s fingers twitch and braced for what was coming next, knowing it was going to hurt. And a voice from the door, familiar and not at the same time, said, “Anakin, stop!”

Skywalker jerked his gaze to the side. Cody didn’t dare look, but he knew Once’s voice, even when it wasn’t Once’s voice. Had to be Skywalker’s Type 2. Strange that he called the General by his first name, but Cody was too grateful for the interruption to care.

The Type 2 slipped into the room - Cody had heard Once call him Ben - and took in the scene. He came closer to Skywalker, closer than Cody would have dared, and said, “Anakin, please. He - he wouldn’t want you to do this. Not here.”

Skywalker blinked. He drew in a breath and looked around. He’d almost stepped on General Jinn’s body and he flinched. “Get out,” he said, his voice hoarse and strung tight. Cody decided not to wait for him to change his mind. He stepped back, keeping his gaze and his blaster on Skywalker, reaching out to grab Once as he passed. 

He curled fingers into the sleeve of Once’s robe, drawing him along; he went with a terrible sense of pliability, as though he no longer cared much what happened to him. He didn’t fight it when Cody pushed him back, through the doorway, into the comforting embrace of the other troopers in the hall. 

“I said get out!” Skywalker shouted from in the room, but Cody was out by then, out and keeping Once close, still gripping his blaster as he moved Once down the hall, adrenaline spiking in his veins.

#

“Anakin,” Ben said, quietly, after everyone else left the room and the door shut. He’d slipped in like he belonged, making himself so easy in Anakin’s space. He was reaching out, mind already touching Anakin’s thoughts, full of offered comfort even before his hand brushed Anakin’s shoulder.

And it was… infuriating. That Anakin had allowed him so close. That the other  _ thing  _ with his face was alive, while Qui-Gon lay still and cold, right there in front of them. Anakin jerked away from his touch, snapping, “Don’t.”

Ben faltered. Anakin caught his reflection in the windows, his eyes widening, his hand curling back. He  _ saw  _ it when Ben marshalled himself, expression going soft and concerned, a perfect mimicry of actual emotion that Anakin had convinced himself was real. “Anakin,” he said again, moving closer, “I know how--”

“You don’t know anything,” Anakin snarled, spinning on him, taking some twisted pleasure in the way Ben flinched. He took a looming step forward, and Ben held his ground, gazing up at him, like he didn’t think Anakin was a threat, even after all the battlefields they’d fought on together, even after all their sparring sessions, even after the rage Anakin knew he was bleeding out everywhere. “How could you possibly know anything?”

Ben sucked in a little breath, spots of color blossoming on his cheeks. “I have plenty of experience with pain,” he said, calm in counterpoint to Anakin’s fury. And Anakin  _ knew  _ he was still hurting, the nerve damage - or whatever it was - tearing at him from the inside, knew he’d just felt so many of his brothers die, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t the same at all. They weren’t real. “And I can listen to--”

“Will listening bring him back?” Anakin snapped, moving forward and, when Ben failed to give way, grabbing his shoulders, shoving him. He looked some much like Once, like Obi-Wan. They were perfect little copies, weren’t they? So perfect that Qui-Gon had loved them more than he’d ever loved Anakin. “Will anything you can kriffing do take back what happened?”

“Anakin,” Ben said, eyes going wide, and he didn’t  _ look  _ hurt, but Anakin felt a flash of it through the bond they shared, sharp agony from Ben’s arm, where Anakin’s metal hand squeezed into soft flesh. Ben looked - felt - puzzled. Lost. “You’re hurting me.”

And that he would complain, dare to fuss, about a little pain, with Qui-Gon died, sacrificed for some  _ thing _ , some creation with a hundred other copies, just because it looked like his lost apprentice, the one Anakin had never, ever, been able to measure up to and now never would-- 

Anakin’s anger spiked higher, incandescent, even as alarm and disgust crawled through his thoughts, revulsion at himself seeping through his cells.

He’d - he’d betrayed everything Qui-Gon taught him. For Ben. For a  _ clone _ . He’d let himself get drawn in. He’d  _ hurt  _ Qui-Gon, just so he could have a few minutes of pleasure with B-- with some  _ thing _ .

He shoved Ben back, squeezing harder, hearing him hit the wall as bitter bile filled his mouth, snarling, “So? Aren’t you things supposed to do what we want? Come to think of it, aren’t you supposed to die so we don’t have to? Isn’t that what you told me?” The words slid from his throat in a growl, conceived and considered and delivered with the finesse of a blow across the jaw, with all the cruelty he’d brought to bear against the other one. 

Anakin didn’t lash out only with words. He shoved at the bond between them, all his anger and fury, wanting Ben to feel it. Maybe that would help him  _ understand _ . 

Ben made a little sound, like he was choking, and froze, going perfectly still all over. Not even breathing, as far as Anakin could tell. The connection they shared, that allowed them to fight so well on the battlefield, closed, all at once. The disappearance left Anakin’s ears ringing and a sudden, fierce pain in the back of his head. He had not even realized how much of his mind it occupied, until it was gone.

“You  _ things… _ ?” Ben said, eyes wide, unfocused. He sounded… utterly blank. Empty.

“You heard me,” Anakin snapped, the anger in his chest still some snarling, rampaging thing. He held onto it, trying to use it to block out everything else, including the voice in the back of his mind screaming in horror at what he was saying. “You’re just a poor copy of dead man. Built and  _ made _ . Get out of here. Get away from me. I never want to see his face again.”

He took his hands off Ben, turning his back, his shoulders heaving with the force of his breath. He did not look back, not even when the door to the room opened a moment later, and then shut. His rage and loss curled around him like a shroud, filling up all of his thoughts and his veins, leaving him in a darkness that tasted of ash and burned like fire.

#

“Don’t listen to what he said,” Cody said, guiding Once into his quarters carefully. Once didn’t say anything, just continued onward, to his bunk, where he sat down with his head bowed over, his elbows on his knees, his hands hanging down limp towards the floor. The door shut with a soft whisper of sound, closing them into the small space, away from the rest of the ship. 

Once said nothing. His shoulders and hands shook. Cody grimaced and approached him cautiously, but he did not stir, not even when Cody crouched down beside him, trying to get a look at the damage to his face. “Hey,” Cody said, reaching a hand out and resting it on Once’s thigh, feeling the tremble in his flesh. Cody’s knuckles still felt itchy. He needed to go find that Skywalker brat, and—

Once shifted then, as Cody stood, reaching out and catching his wrist. “Don’t go,” he said, his voice a wretched croak. “He wasn’t wrong.”

Cody grimaced. “Going to have to disagree with you there.”

Once barked a laugh, devoid of any sign of pleasure. “He was right, Cody. General Jinn… he only—he loved some other man with my face.” He sounded gutted, as though each word dragged blades up through his throat. “He didn’t die for  _ me _ . He never saw  _ me _ . Skywalker wasn’t seeing  _ me _ , either. No one does.”

For a moment, Cody could only stare down at the crown of his head, his hair dirty and disordered by the long hours of mourning. Cody’s tongue stuck to the top of his mouth, resisting, but he fought it into submission, finally, managing to say, “No.”

Once shook his head. “It’s true, people look at me and they see—”

“I never knew him,” Cody said, quick, before his courage could desert him as it already had, so many times around Once. He felt Once’s fingers squeeze around his wrist. He heard Once’s jaw click shut as Once looked up at him, his eyes wide and bright in the dark of the room around them, his skin marked with tear tracks and a spreading purple-red bruise that made Cody want to go beat the shit out of Skywalker, Jedi and General though he was. He’d hit Once with his kriffing metal hand, that son of a bantha.

“What?” Once asked, something trembling and hopeful in his voice as he searched Cody’s expression.

And Cody had not meant to speak of it, the tight ball of emotion that formed in his chest when he looked at Once, when they fought beside one another, when—all the time, really. Once  _ shone _ , meant for something beyond this miserable war, beyond a scarred up soldier with no purpose but to fight and die.  _ But _ he stared up, his blue eyes shining, and Cody found he could not walk back the words. He crouched by the bed, hating the feeling of looming over Once, and reached out to wipe some of the tears on his face away, careful of the bruise.

“I never knew him,” he said. “General Jinn’s apprentice. He died before I was ever created.” He hesitated, only for a second, bracing himself, and then plunged onward with the courage that had seen him through so many battles, ignoring the General’s orders. “And I care about you.”

Once stared at him, eyes gone wide. He shook his head, then, some misery passing over his expression as he said, “Yes, you’re a good Commander, I understand that you—”

Cody flinched. “I’m not talking about the way I feel about you as a soldier, Once.”

Once turned his face to the side. His mouth crooked up in the corners. “You’ve been very professional, Commander.” And he never should have listened to General Jinn. He never should have listened to any of his training. He should have shown Once, every step of the way, exactly how unprofessional his feelings were. “Though it’s kind of you--”

Cody reached out and touched the edge of Once’s jaw, turning his face back, shifting forward to kiss him, soft. He hated the taste of salt on Once’s mouth, the way he froze and went still. Cody drew back after only a moment, the response cutting up beneath his ribs and shredding the heart of him. Maybe Once really was more of a Jedi than he’d thought. Maybe he didn’t - didn’t  _ want  _ the same things Cody did. Maybe Once didn’t feel anything like the things Cody felt. Maybe he couldn’t. Maybe all the looks, the soft yearning Cody’d thought he’d seen, had just been curiosity. 

“I’m telling you the truth,” he said, gutted, and at least he’d found the courage to tell the truth, for all the good it would do him.

He shifted, intending to stand, to walk from the room now that his humiliation was complete, and Once grabbed him, seizing the collar of his armor and pulling. Their second kiss was a clumsy thing, as Once pushed up to meet him, throwing an arm around his shoulders as though to anchor him in place, uncareful with himself. Once shifted back after a moment, breathing hard, his eyes wide. Cody had fallen half over him, hands braced on the mattress to prevent his full weight from falling onto Once.

He licked his tingling mouth and said, trying to figure out his next course of action, “Once—”

Once made a desperate little sound and kissed him again, needing and hungry and wanting. He didn’t have experience, that became obvious quickly; but then neither did Cody. Maybe something had been programmed into them, maybe some things just came naturally, because Cody had a pretty good idea what he wanted - needed - to do. He groaned, shifting the angle of the kiss, and Once followed his lead, leaning further back, dragging Cody down, down with him to the cot.

It was tempting to follow him down, to touch all of his skin, to see how far this could be pushed. But—

But Once was upset. Grieving. His brothers had all just been slaughtered, they’d been able to rescue so few. And General Jinn’s death had carved into him. Cody pushed up on one arm, trying his best not to look at Once’s reddened mouth and the flush in his cheeks. The bruise. Kriff. He had to be hurting Once, every time they kissed. He managed to force out, “Wait.”

Once stilled beneath him, sprawled out across the blankets in a way that stirred things in Cody’s blood. But he had not lied. He _lo--cared_ about Once, and could not bear to take advantage of his upset.

Once blinked up at him and asked, “Why?” Something in his expression shifted, shuttering. “Oh, do you not really—”

Cody groaned in frustration, leaning back down and kissing Once. Soft, careful. It left Once panting and dazed when he pulled back a moment later, flushed all across his cheeks and down his neck. “No,” Cody said, his voice a low growl that he could not control any longer. “Believe me, I want…” Going into what he wanted would not currently be helpful, he reminded himself. “But, I don’t—you don’t—I’m only—” He gestured at himself. “A first-generation. You’re—”

He watched Once frown, and then Once was shifting, shoving with muscles and the Force, dumping Cody down onto his back on the mattress in a move that sent a jolt of hot interest down his spine, especially because it ended with Once settled across his hips. He couldn’t even  _ feel  _ anything through his armor. It didn’t matter. Once leaning above him, flushed. The weight of him pressing down made Cody want to thrust up against him. Cody’s hands settled at his hips automatically, squeezing.

Once squirmed, which did nothing to help Cody’s sense of self-control. He cocked his head to the side, the bruise standing stark on his pale skin, and Cody was going to kriffing find a way to make Skywalker pay for it. “Do you really…?” He flushed redder, across his cheeks.

Cody cleared his throat. It did nothing to help the thickness of his voice. “If my armor weren’t in the way,” he rasped, the lowness of his voice some foreign thing, “you’d be able to tell how much I wanted you.” Once stared dead across into his eyes, deliciously flushed, impossibly beautiful. Cody took his hand, drew it close, and leaned his head against Once’s palm. “Can’t you feel it in here?”

He felt Once slide into his thoughts, an infinitely gentle touch. The red in Once’s cheeks deepened. He said, a dare in the words, “Show me, then.” And he shifted, shrugging out of his tunic and casting it down onto the ground. He reached for his undershirt, and Cody beat him to it, the temptation beating back whatever his better angels might have whispered into his ears.

And there was something else. He could still feel - feel the brush of Once’s mind against his. He knew what it felt like. Emotion was bleeding through across it, a great swell of it, hidden in Once’s expression. Once  _ needed _ , needed  _ him _ , needed something to make the world alright for a moment. Cody could do that much for him, would do anything for him, in that moment.

He pulled fabric aside, finding Once’s mouth again, the sweet jut of his jaw, the curve of his throat. Once groaned at each touch, pushing into his hands, gasping when Cody twisted them once more, guiding him down to the mattress and shifting above him.

Once’s clever fingers found all the clasps to his armor, working them quickly between and during hungry kisses. He groaned deliciously when Cody was free enough to finally press down against him, grinding against the beauteous expanse of his body. He didn’t know if he were making the right decision in the moment, but he couldn’t bring himself to back away from this edge. If this were to be his only chance, his one opportunity, he couldn’t miss it.

He pressed closer, kissing desperately, putting all that he had into each touch and each hungry moment, drawing one cry after another from Once’s throat, until finally he could restrain himself no longer, and spilled his own pleasure.

Afterwards, they lay tangled together on the sheets, Once curled all around him. He shifted, his mind growing heavy with all the words he had to find a way to say, now, and Once arched off the bed, kissed him softy, and said, “Again.”

#

Ben walked out of Anakin’s quarters blindly, struck mute and senseless by what he had done, what he had said. Ben had not lied, when he said he was familiar with pain. His short life had mostly been nothing  _ but  _ pain, of one sort or another. The physical agonies that had gone with training had only intensified once he’d been sent to war.

And there were the other pains, the nerve damage, the agony that they all felt when one of them fell. They were too alike to the Force, connected to one another in some way. When one died, a piece of all of them did. 

He knew pain. He knew it well, intimately.

But none of that agony had prepared him for the wash of hatred and disgust directly into his mind. Experiencing such fury from the person he lo-- from  _ Anakin  _ had felt like being torn apart from the inside out.

He’d torn apart the connection between them automatically, in self-defense more than anything else. He’d been desperate to make it stop, to cease the onrushing flood that told him what he was. What he’d always been to Anakin. A thing. A thing built to die so he might live.

Ben’d known that about himself already. But it hurt, cut impossibly deep, to know Anakin felt it too, to hear it from him. To feel the truth of it, inside his skull and his chest.

The Jedi, Ben realized, walking down the hall in a daze, unsure how he even remained upright, feeling hollowed out as he did inside, had been right about love. It was dangerous and horrible. Something was wrong inside of him. He’d tried to cut off the connection to Anakin, tried to cut off the anger, the  _ hatred _ , before it could pour into his mind. But he’d been too slow. And now he was hurt inside.

He blinked, trying to see clearly as he moved down the hall. He needed to be – to be somewhere quiet. Somewhere no one could see him. Type 1s were already turning to look, watching him pass, concern etched across their features. He must be projecting something, some measure of the agony inside him.

He turned his face away from them, stumbling, finally, into a supply room of some kind. It was empty. That was all that really mattered. He waved the door shut and swayed into the nearest wall, ignoring the hot throb of pain from his shoulder and arm at the impact.

He’d automatically curled the limb in close to his chest. His fingers had curled up towards his palm, like some kind of withered thing. It hurt to straighten them. The sharp shock of it up to his shoulder barely registered. It was a little pain, a small thing, compared to what was going on inside his chest.

The agony there was too large for him to handle. He panted, trying to breathe around it, sinking down against the wall. It had to be another organ failing. His heart, maybe. It  _ hurt _ , filling him up entirely with pain, until it closed out everything else. He shut out his brothers, pushed them away even as they reached towards him, feeling his pain. He wanted to spare them this agony that must surely be killing him.

Ben made no effort to comm the medics. He didn’t want them to come. He didn’t want anyone to find him, head bowed over, good hand fisted in the front of his robes, knuckles pressing hard over his sternum.

He’d thought – he’d thought so many things. And he’d been wrong about all of them. Anakin had never – Anakin thought he was a  _ thing _ . He’d let Anakin touch him, touch every part of him, sate every hungry desire, and the feelings they’d shared, they’d just been  _ lies _ . He was a thing. Things were used. He’d been used.

His eyes stung and burned. He couldn’t seem to breathe properly. Maybe the organ failure was affecting his lungs, too. He’d thought Anakin loved him, only a few days ago, and he’d been wrong, so inconceivably wrong.

Anakin hated him.  _ Loathed  _ him. Ben had felt it all, washing into his mind across their bond, Anakin’s anger lashing out at him, the same way Anakin had lashed out at Once. All the anger Ben had thought was never directed his way, that had all been some kind of trick. Some ploy of Anakin’s.

It was hard to make sense of everything he’d seen from Anakin’s head. But he knew it was his fault General Jinn and Anakin’s relationship had suffered. He’d caused that, brought that pain to Anakin. He knew it was his fault Anakin had broken the Order’s regulations. He’d made Anakin a worse Jedi. He’d kept Anakin away from where he should have been. He’d—

He’d done so many things, was at fault for so much. All the failings swirled inside his head, their angry edges slicing into him, carving deeper into his chest, and still the pain did not stop and he did not die. So, apparently, this pain would not be enough to kill him. Which was a pity.

He curled over, learning to breathe around it, trying to determine how to move forward. The pain filled him so completely. He didn’t want to go on experiencing it. He wished it would just kill him, because to exist like this was torture. He needed---

He gulped a breath, a solution unfolding elegant inside his mind. He drew on the Force, seeking to build a façade of calm. He wiped at his face; his hands came away wet. He forced his breath to even out. He straightened his robes and dragged fingers back through his hair. He had to use his left hand; the right didn’t want to rise properly and his shoulder flared into white hot pain when he tried. He didn’t bother attempting to mend it. What did it matter?

Ben left the storage room on shaky legs, but with his back straight and his expression normal. No one argued when he boarded a transport back to the  _ Resolute _ . It was easy to find Tarkin, his mind felt oily and smooth in a way no one else’s on the ship felt. He found the man in his quarters, frowning over plans spread out on a table.

Tarkin frowned and narrowed his eyes at Ben’s presence, gaze moving over him dismissively. “Yes?” he said, the word clipped and sharp, just like his thoughts.

He thought Ben was a thing, too. He projected it outward. And Ben supposed he was right, had been right all along. Ben was a thing and he’d failed in his purpose. But that was easy to correct.

“Sir,” Ben said, his voice coming from far away, all muffled and strange. “I’d like to volunteer for your mission.” Tarkin straightened, something surprised and pleased moving through him. “But I don’t want any Type 1s with me.” They didn’t deserve what was coming on that station. “They shouldn’t--”

Tarkin waved a hand. “That will not be a problem, Lieutenant-Commander. The Senate has hand-selected a group of operatives to join you. They are waiting for you, closer to the outpost. We can make plans for you to go--”

“Now,” Ben interrupted, because he wasn’t sure how much longer he could take the agony in his chest. It was taking all he had to maintain a calm expression, to keep standing. “I’d like to go right now. Sir.”

Tarkin’s mouth crooked up into a smile. “Well, then,” he said. “Excellent.”

#

“What’s going to happen to us now?” Once asked, eventually. They’d fallen into silence. Cody had half-dozed, without intending it. He hadn’t had much sleep in the last three days. He blinked his eyes open, taking in Once, spread out beside him, and felt a kick of something sweet and hot in his gut.

Once was laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, dark circles under his eyes. The bruise on his face had darkened. Cody could see the imprint of knuckles. His jaw ached, and he looked away from the mark, across Once’s body, finding his hands clenched together over his stomach.

Cody reached out and touched the back of one hand, careful. He was half sure everything that had happened had been a passing dream.

“Us?” he asked, his voice telling and rough. It was difficult not to notice the way Once pressed all against him, his skin warm and soft. He hadn’t had time to gather all the scars Cody bore, but they fitted together anyway. Perfectly.

Once’s mouth crooked. He shifted his gaze from the ceiling and rolled towards Cody. “Well, you and me, too,” he said, trailing his fingers across Cody’s chest, up to his shoulder, over his neck. Cody shivered a bit at the touch. “But I meant… General Jinn is dead. What happens to the 212th?”

All those worries had crept through Cody’s head, earlier, through the long watches of the night. He shook his head, daring to skim a hand over Once’s side. It still felt like he was stealing something, touching Once this way. “I don’t know. We’ve received orders to return to Coruscant. They might… break up the Battalion. Spread us out among other Generals.”

Once’s fingers tightened against his skin. “Split us up,” he said, quietly.

Cody flinched, shifting forward, brushing a soft kiss against his mouth. “They might,” he said, hating the idea, but knowing it was likely.

Once’s expression twisted, just for a moment. He blinked twice. “That’s - alright. And what about - what about the chips? What are we going to do, without General Jinn?”

Cody breathed in and breathed out. It had been necessary to shove his worry about the chips away, back on Kamino. There’d been no time to think about what he’d seen after the General’s death. He’d had only one person he could discuss it with, and Once hadn’t been ready. But now… He sighed, pushing up on an elbow. “Cody?”

“I didn’t see much,” he said, brushing the pads of his fingers back across Once’s short, copper hair. “Before. But I saw enough to recognize command overrides.”

Once froze, gaze locking on his, wide and alarmed. “Command overrides,” he said, voice going flat. “For - for you. For you and your brothers?”

Cody nodded. “Yeah. Someone wanted to make sure they could make us do  _ something _ . Whether we wanted to or not.”

“What?”

Cody could only shake his head. “Not sure. The information wasn’t there, or if it was…” There hadn’t been time to read much more than a few snippets, not with everything going on. Cody still felt guilty about what he’d taken the chance to glance over. If he’d just ignored it, maybe General Jinn wouldn’t be dead. He swallowed. “But I did - Once, I saw some of the client codes.”

Once sat up, looking over at him. “Who? Who did this?”

And Cody’s mouth tasted of ash when he said, “Someone in the Senate. High-ranking.”

“Sithspit,” Once breathed out, paling further. “What are we going to do?” Cody shifted up, and Once leaned over into him, without even seeming to realize what he was doing, like his body needed the touch and decided to take it, without any higher thought. 

Cody curled closer to him. “I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “We’ll figure something out. We have to.” There was no one else to handle it. Just them, for however long the Senate allowed them to remain together.

#

Anakin’s rage passed, impossible as it seemed. It left him by slow degrees, easing until he became aware of the tight clench of his hands and the ache in his teeth from how hard he clenched his jaw. It left him feeling empty, hollowed out. Its absence allowed other thoughts to creep back, sliding shamefully into his mind.

Anger had made him say… awful things. They played back through his memory, crystal clear, each cutting like a knife. He reached out, pushing regret towards Ben, only to find the way shut. It was as though the connection between their minds had been severed, amputated. The edges were raw and  _ hurt _ at his attention, the pain of it impossibly physical.

He stopped, light-headed with pain. The situation had made him act like an idiot. Enough of an idiot that Ben had cut their connection, somehow. The edges of the cut felt ragged, done in desperation, without even a hint of Ben’s usual precision. Regret climbed the back of Anakin’s throat as he commed Ben. He received no answer, and fresh alarm prickled across his limbs and down his spine, even as he tried again.

It was a momentary relief when the comms activated, but it was a short-lived boon, because it was not Ben’s voice on the other end. Instead, a trooper said, “You’re not going to be able to reach him. He’s not aboard the ship, sir.”

Ice filled Anakin’s stomach, a terrible sense of dread grounding down into his bones, as he asked, “What? Where is he?”

“He volunteered for the mission from the Senate,” the voice said. “Admiral Tarkin--”

“No.” Anakin stood, horror climbed up his throat, into his skull, curling around his brain. No, that was a suicide mission, and they’d all known it. He’d  _ protested  _ it, knowing it was a suicide mission. “How long ago?”

There was a second’s hesitation over the line. “They left almost six hours ago, sir, we haven’t--”

But Anakin was no longer listening, no longer in any mood to hear. He snapped, “Call them back.”

He received another pause. “They’ve been ordered to stay radio silent, sir, I can’t--”

Anakin swore, exiting the room at a run, barking orders to have the  _ Resolute  _ prepared to leave  _ immediately _ , though he knew he could not catch them, though whatever was done was already done, though he could not feel Ben at all, not even a thread of the connection that had lived in his thoughts, and he knew, deep down, what that likely meant.

#

Ben spent the trip hunched in on himself, in the space behind the cockpit of the fast shuttle they’d packed him away in. The pain never lessened, which seemed wildly unfair. It just dug into him, as though some tiny flesh-eating thing had been unleashed under his skin. 

He stared at the far wall and tried to think of nothing. He could feel his brothers, nudging at him every now and then, when he slipped and let some of the pain escape. He rebuffed them, turning them aside. 

He nodded when the pilot landed their craft and came back to speak with him, though the words were just buzzing noise. He was met by other soldiers, wearing dark reddish armor and masks. They didn’t offer their names or designations. Ben didn’t ask. What did it matter, any of it?

Someone went over a plan, but he barely listened. He didn’t  _ care  _ about securing codes for Separatist ships or droids, though he supposed it would be nice if they managed it. He didn’t… really want to be here, at this station. Something about it rebuffed him, made him want to turn away.

But he didn’t care enough to give in to the urge. He just arranged his armor and checked his sabers. His right hand throbbed warningly when he curled his fingers around the hilt, but he ignored it. It mattered little if he damaged the muscles or tendons or nerves.

Besides, it was a reminder of the last time Anakin had touched him. He felt his mouth quirk, briefly. The pain would make sure he wouldn’t forget exactly what he was. That really, he wasn’t even a  _ he _ . Just an  _ it _ .

“Get ready to move,” one of the soldiers said, voice muffled by their mask. Ben looked up, feeling distant, outside of his body. He watched the facility approach, his heart still beating, somehow, though he was a dead man already, and tightened his grip on his sabers.

#

“They’re going to see us coming,” the trooper at the tactical station said, as they approached the station orbiting the black hole. He cut Anakin a glance that Anakin ignored. 

“Let them kriffing see,” Anakin snapped. They hadn’t been able to contact the ship that had taken Ben away, not even once. Anakin still couldn’t feel him. Trying to reach him felt like grabbing the end of his arm had felt, after Dooku cut off his hand on Geonosis. He kept trying, anyway.

“Yes, sir,” the trooper said, exchanging a look with his fellows that Anakin ignored. He’d been ignoring lots of things, like the orders from the Council and the Senate that he abandon his present course, like the hails for Ahsoka, wondering exactly what was going on. 

He should have been setting up Qui-Gon’s pyre in the Temple. Instead, he was plunging towards a black hold, heedlessly, reaching for a lost piece of himself, a piece  _ he’d  _ carved out and thrown away. He watched the station draw closer and turned on his heel. “Maintain a safe distance from the accretion disk,” he ordered, on his way to the hangar bay.

They’d found no sign of another ship around the station. Anakin didn’t think that meant they’d never arrived, because the station’s power readings were low and fluctuating. There were signs of weapons discharge, bombs. Something had happened there. And then someone had left. And he  _ hadn’t heard anything from Ben _ .

Anakin mechanically pulled his way into his fighter, ignoring the questions R2 warbled at him, and set off for the station. The docking bay of the facility was open to space. Anakin landed without thought, pulling himself out of the fighter, reaching out for Ben and getting  _ nothing _ . His heart pounded relentlessly at his ribs as he worked the door open, stepping inside, and finding no defense brought to bear against him.

“Ben!” he called, looking around, and getting no reply. He swore, under his breath, and took off. He ran through the halls of the facility, taking in scorch marks on the walls, broken droids, and the bodies of strange, red clad troopers. There were so many of them, laying where they fell, the rest of their group in too much of a hurry – too dedicated to the mission – to bring along the dead. Sour bile burned in his throat and he yelled, again, “Ben!”

He did not get an answer. He pushed again at the connection they’d shared, but there was nothing there, nothing on the other end; it was shut neatly. Or gone completely. Death could sever a connection, after all. He knew that. So many others had been lost, Ben—

He shoved that thought aside viciously, refusing it and focusing on digging out additional speed. He could read the battle from the signs left behind. Here they had fought a superior force to gain the position they needed, here they were surprised, here they caught a group of droids in a flanking maneuver. He recognized the strategies – Ben had a unique way of looking at battles, of deploying his men, characterized by his refusal to place any value on his own life.

Anakin put that thought aside as well, glancing over the bodies of the dead as he ran. They’d made it so deep into the facility. Perhaps they had completed their mission. Perhaps they’d been successful and left. Perhaps he’d passed their craft in deep space and never realized it, perhaps—

He turned a corner to find a hall full of destroyed droid bodies. They piled up on one another, clustered around the door at the far end of the passage. There were dozens – hundreds – of them, the walls burned and the air stinking of blaster fire and blood. A single humanoid body remained in the quiet hall, leaned against the frame of the door, limbs sprawled awkwardly, head hanging down.

Anakin would have known the fall of copper hair anywhere, the armor, the lightsaber, resting on the floor where it had rolled away from limp fingers. Something in his chest froze solid and he cried out, “Ben!”

He jumped over the droids – there were  _ so many _ , they clogged the passage – and landed in the doorway. There were no droid bodies beyond the passage, no blast marks on the wall, no sign of the battle at all. They had all been stopped there. Ben had held them. All of them. And now he sat, utterly limp, against the door, covered in blood and the char of blaster marks.

Unmoving.

Anakin dropped beside him, trying to will his mind to wake from this terrible dream, but the present just kept unrolling past him, cold and relentless. He hesitated, just for a moment, before touching Ben’s shoulder, expecting to find his flesh cold and dreading it, building denials in his mind against the uprising of horror through his thoughts.

Ben’s skin felt warm under his fingers. He stirred, with a pained groan, his fingers twitching against the floor, and the molasses-slow passage of time suddenly shifted into an impossibly high gear. Anakin cried out, pushing, once more, at the closed bond, needing a read on Ben’s condition and getting nothing, not even a glint of his thoughts, even as Ben drunkenly lifted his head, blinking unfocused eyes, and slurred, “Anakin?”

“Sh, sh,” Anakin advised, triaging injuries desperately. The front of Ben’s tunics were soaked with blood. He pulled at the fabric, hissing at the wound beyond.

“What’re—” Ben started, and coughed, wretchedly, fresh blood swelling from the wounds as his body jerked.

Anakin flinched, pushing his hand against the worst of the wounds and willing healing energy into the extensive damage, his mind moving impossibly quickly. He should have brought a field medical kit, he should have - 

They were deep in the complex. He would have to carry Ben out. The wounds…did not look as though they would benefit from being moved. But the alternative—

“I’m getting you out of here,” he said, grimly, pushing one last burst of energy down into the messy injuries and shifting to take Ben into his arms. He felt boneless, all dead weight, when Anakin pulled him close and stood. His head lolled against Anakin’s shoulder.

Ben said, slurring still, “Don’t, don’t touch—stop--”

“It’s going to be alright,” Anakin snapped, all he could force out between his clenched teeth, and he turned, and he ran.

#

Once dreaded going to the Jedi Temple. It had not been a pleasant experience, the few times he went with General Jinn. It was no more pleasant, bringing back General Jinn’s body. He rode in a shuttle down to the Temple with the body, covered and still in stasis. He avoided looking at it; all the memories of what had happened were still too close to the surface of his mind.

He hesitated when the shuttle landed. Cody, sitting across from him, stretched a leg out and touched his foot, a small reminder that he was not all alone. Once shot him a grateful look, took a breath, and stood.

The back of the shuttle opened. Beyond it stood lines of Jedi, waiting to accept their fallen comrade. The sun shone bright and blinding around them. They all looked so composed, so calm. Once swallowed, focusing on Master Yoda, at the front of the group, as he stepped out of the shuttle, Cody at his shoulder.

It was not his place to bring General Jinn back to the Temple. He knew that. It should have been his last apprentice. But General Skywalker had  _ gone _ , leaving no messages about where he was going and ignoring all attempts to call him back. So Once was taking this duty from him as well. He wondered absently if Skywalker would hit him again. The side of his face still ached, despite the treatment he’d received from the medics.

“I’m sorry,” he said, when he reached Master Yoda. There were formalities, things he would have said if he were a Jedi, but he _ wasn’t _ a Jedi, and there was no longer anyone around to claim differently. Besides, he could not remember the words, they were all blocked out by the grief inside of him.

He knew that Jedi did not give into grief. But he no longer had to pretend to be anything other than what he was, and he grieved. He could still see his brothers, the little ones, the way they’d been murdered and tossed aside like trash. Each one of their deaths sat inside him, bright sparks of agony.

He could still see General Jinn, the relief on his face, when he’d died. He swallowed; his throat felt clogged with some kind of foreign material. His eyes burned and he blinked rapidly, trying to clear them.

Master Yoda looked up at him, large eyes heavy-lidded, radiating sadness at him through the Force. “Your fault, it was not,” Yoda said, and then gestured at the Jedi behind him, who moved into the shuttle and came out again, bearing General Jinn’s body with the Force, moving silently into the Temple proper.

Yoda turned as the last Jedi stepped through the doors, and Once shifted. “Sir,” he said, hating to interrupt, but no one had given them further orders. “Do you know what we should do, now?”

Yoda paused, looking back at him. His fingers tapped on the handle of his cane. He looked very small and very old, under the bright Coruscanti sun. “Accompany us, you should,” he said, finally. “Wanted that, he would have. Discuss your future after, we will.”

Once kept his expression still, glancing briefly over towards Cody. He didn’t want to -- “Come as well, the Commander should,” Yoda said, turning away from them, walking towards the door. Once swallowed, and Cody shrugged at him. They followed the Jedi into the Temple, the large, ornate doors shutting behind them, closing them off from the light, sealing them into the cool, dim space beyond.

As they walked beside one another, Cody shifted, fingers brushing Once’s, just briefly, and the touch steadied him, enough to keep him moving forward.

#

Medics swarmed around Anakin when he arrived back on the  _ Resolute _ , charging into the medbay with all the speed at his discretion. They took Ben away from him and left him standing, soaked with blood that wasn’t his. They seemed to forget about him, more concerned with their patient. No one hurried him out as they started pulling at armor and robes, working to get to the injuries beneath.

It seemed impossible that Ben still lived; his body was a map of pain that Anakin could read too well. He knew what blaster burns looked like, could perfectly imagine the pain that came with them. He took it all in, an insufficient punishment, and felt his gorge rise as he got a look at Ben’s shoulders as the medics laid him out.

There were bruises dug into Ben’s right shoulder, deep and so purple they looked black, marks from pressure twisted cruelly down into muscle. Anakin  _ knew  _ where they’d come from, his memory happy to playback the way he’d grabbed Ben, the way he’d squeezed, his robotic hand digging into soft flesh.

“You’re hurting me,” Ben had said, and he’d seemed confused, like he’d never thought Anakin  _ could  _ do such a thing. And Anakin had been satisfied, at the time, had known he was hurting Ben and done nothing to stop himself. Anakin took a step back, his gorge rising in the back of his throat. His hands were tacky with Ben’s blood, his robes soaked in it. He could smell it in his nose.

More medics crowded around, blocking Ben’s body from his view. He could see only one of Ben’s arms, hanging off of the bed, limp, his fingers curling up towards his palm. Anakin tripped out of the medbay, bending at the waist, gripping at his knees, panting for breath around the vice closing on his ribs. 

His head felt full of white noise. His mouth tasted like acid. His heart would not slow down. He stretched his thoughts out to Ben, hoping for a connection now gone, and got nothing back, nothing at all, just the raw edges where their bond had once lived.

“Sir?” Rex sounded worried. Anakin had not felt him approach. “What happened?”

Anakin shook his head. His hands were bloody. He wiped at his robes, but they were a mess, too. He tugged off the glove over his left hand and tossed it aside, ignoring Rex’s little intake of breath at the sight of the inner workings of it. He knew it wasn’t pretty to look at. It was barbaric. And he’d used it for barbarism.

He considered the odds that he would vomit, as his stomach roiled in his gut. He swallowed down bile. “I don’t know,” he said. “I didn’t find anyone else alive.”

“But the ship is gone,” Rex said, after a moment. It sounded like a prompt. Anakin pulled his left hand into his sleeve. Not seeing it didn’t make him feel any better. “The ship that brought the Lieutenant-Commander--”

“I know what ship you’re talking about,” Anakin snapped. He felt Rex stiffen beside him, and scrubbed at his face, trying to take a deep breath, to do anything but gasp at the air. He glanced sideways, then away. Looking someone else in the eyes felt impossible. “I don’t know where it went. I don’t know if they found anything here.”

“Alright. Well. What are your orders, then?”

Anakin stared at the far wall. Somewhere on the other side of it, the medics were trying to save Ben’s life. He couldn’t feel Ben’s thoughts or feelings anymore, but he  _ could  _ sense the warm spot of his life in the Force. It was weak and guttering, close to failing completely.

Anakin wanted to spit out the bitterness in his mouth. He swallowed it down, instead. “I don’t know,” he said. He couldn’t remember not  _ knowing  _ what to do before. 

“What?” Rex sounded sharp. He almost reached out, Anakin felt it, and thought better of it at the last moment.

Anakin shook himself. “I said I don’t know. What were the last orders we received?” He vaguely remembered receiving numerous messages from the Senate and the Council.

“We’re supposed to be on our way to Coruscant.”

“Fine.” It was as good a place to go as any. “Take us to Coruscant.” He didn’t move. His legs didn’t want to take him away from this place, right in front of the medbay doors. After a moment, he heard Rex turn and walk away. Anakin stared forward, monitoring the fragile line of Ben’s life, unblinking and unmoving.

#

They sent Qui-Gon’s body back to the universe in flame and smoke. Yoda watched the ritual in silence, grief for his apprentice’s apprentice flowing through him as he released it to the Force. They had lost so many, letting go of the grief felt almost rote, which was a terrible sensation.

Qui-Gon had looked peaceful in his death, far more peaceful than Yoda had known him to be in the last decade of his life. Yoda considered that perhaps he had lost some vital part of his spirit years ago, and finally the rest of him had been released to join it.

The other Jedi gathered around felt calm, though Yoda felt their sadness as well. There were tumultuous emotions with them, though. He watched the pair of troopers from the corner of his eyes. The Type 2 stared forward, dry eyed, but stricken inside, wounded so deeply that Yoda could not get the full fathom of it.

He felt a moment of cruel remembrance. Obi-Wan had often felt such, before he shut the feelings away. Sometimes, Nith, who served as Yoda’s Type 2, felt that way, as well. It was as though the Kaminoans had somehow copied the sadness and grief of the original into all the copies, which seemed excessively cruel.

Similar thoughts plagued him as the ritual finished, and he guided the troopers deeper into the Temple. He had not spent much time with either, but that did not stop the sense of familiarity he had with the Type 2. This one - Once - felt…. Felt the same way Nith did. Entirely. It was difficult to process, even after so many months of working with the clones.

He shook his head, coming to a stop finally in a garden, where they would have quiet. He waved the pair at a bench, and settled himself onto a low, warm rock. “The future of the 212th, you worry about,” he said, for it was in the front of both of their thoughts, along with some other concern, some worry that they pushed deeper.

“Yes, General,” Cody said, as befit his rank. “Do you have orders for us from the Senate?”

Yoda nodded. The arguments about the future of the battalion had been long and frustrating. The loss of a General was always a blow. There were so few of them left, it seemed, and fewer every day. He sighed. “Indeed. Decided, it has been. Take control of the Battalion directly, I will.”

“Sir?” Yoda felt Cody’s surprise. He watched Cody exchange a glance with Once, something moving between them. 

“Old, I am,” he said, ignoring the connection he felt between them. They were neither of them Jedi, after all. Once was  _ not  _ Obi-Wan Kenobi, nor Nith, no matter what he looked like. “Onto the field of battle, I will not go. Handle that aspect of my duties, you will.” He gestured at Once, who nodded.

“Your Type 2…?” Once started, and Yoda felt his worry for his brother.

“Remain here, he will. Familiar already with the 212th, you are. More efficient to keep you in your current posting, it is.” Besides, Nith was currently digging through the archives. He had a keen interest in Jedi history. Yoda would leave him on Coruscant, in the Temple. And if it would be safer for him, if there was a part of Yoda that, however illogically, wanted to ensure Nith remained safe, well…

It was not against the will of the Force.

Once radiated a sense of relief that Cody echoed. Yoda processed that. There was a connection between them. Something that should have been impossible between a Jedi and a-- But Once was not a Jedi. The clones kept telling them so. It was just so easy to forget.

“Join you in orbit shortly, I will,” Yoda said, shaking his head. He started to rise and hesitated when Once shifted.

“Sir,” he said, glancing over at Cody, who nodded. “We actually… General Jinn trusted you, very much. And so I think we should trust you, too.” He glanced around the garden, Yoda  _ felt  _ the sweep of his mind, looking for others. “We don’t know who else to trust. There’s something you should know, General, about the Type 1s.”

#

The medics managed to stabilize Ben, somehow. Anakin felt gutted with relief when the flickering presence of his life stopped fading in and out. It wasn’t strong, by any means, but it stopped dipping towards non-existence.

He’d been exhausted, by the time he dared enter the medbay. He’d found Ben already floating in a bacta tank, the medics moved on to other problems. No one protested when Anakin sat in front of the bacta tank, staring upwards, his legs crossed in front of him and his head busy with white noise.

The last words he had spoken to Ben before he’d run off, throwing himself into the meat grinder that was the infiltration of the Separatist base, kept echoing back at him.  _ Get away from me _ , he’d barked.  _ I never want to see his face again _ .

He flinched at the echoing memory, curling his head down as his hands balled into fists in his lap. Something rattled nearby, shaken by the tumult of his emotions. He’d spat hateful words, aching and empty from Qui-Gon’s death, lashing out at anyone who happened to be close enough to wound, and for his trouble…

For his trouble, Ben floated in a bacta tank, pale and limp, looking too much like a dead thing for Anakin’s peace of mind. It had been close. Too close. And it had all been Anakin’s fault. If he had just--

He heard the doors slide open at his back and flinched at the brush of Ahsoka’s mind against his. She felt frightened, a ball of anxiety pressing against his senses as she slipped forward on silent feet, stopping well away from him and shifting her weight there, silent as the grave.

“I kriffed up, Ahsoka” Anakin said, into her silence.

She drew in a stiff little breath. Her voice was strained when she said, “I heard you didn’t order him to--”

“I called him a poor copy of a dead man,” he said, interrupting the excuse she was trying to make for him. He couldn’t bear to hear it spoken. His stomach knotted up tighter in his gut. His chest felt ice cold inside. “I told him to get away from me. I told him I didn’t want to see his face again.”

He did not look at her. He didn’t want to see her expression. He felt the wash of her anger and disgust and that was enough. He’d put those hateful words into the world and they’d struck home, so true and deep that Ben had gone right out and tried to find a way to die, all because Anakin had--

He gasped for a breath around the tight band squeezing his ribs and his heart. 

“That’s…” He could feel her groping for something to say. There was nothing to say. He knew that. “You were upset, Master Qui-Gon--”

“Don’t,” he bit the word out. “Please, don’t.”

She fell silent, blessedly silent. He thought she might leave but she drifted forward, instead, to the tank. She pressed her hands against it, looking up into the faint glow coming from the tank and then leaning her forehead against the shell of it. Her eyes were squeezed closed. Tear tracks stood on her cheeks. “Get better,” she said, after an agonizingly long moment, and then she turned, and walked back, standing beside Anakin.

“I’ve been doing some digging,” she said, quietly. “Into - into what I found, before.” It was difficult to make himself care about the person who had ordered the production of - of Ben. And his brothers. But it was important. The tampering with their memories, that was important.

“What did you find?” he asked, his voice rough. He couldn’t remember when last he’d slept or ate.

“It doesn’t make much sense,” she said, reaching into the bag over her shoulder. She pulled out a pad and handed it across to him. “But I think I know where the ship came from, before it went to Kamino. Some planet called Dathomir.” He stared down at the pad, and she sighed, stepping back, turning on her heel. “And I’m fine, Master. Thanks for asking.”

He flinched, fingers clenching around the pad, and listened to the sound of the door shutting at his back.

#

Palpatine sat at his desk, mouth quirking up in the corners as he read over all the reports flowing into him. He had informational channels not shared by the Senate as a whole. It would hardly do for them to know everything he knew, after all.

Grievous’s loss was unfortunate, to be sure. But at least the machine had managed to cause far more damage than Palpatine had dared to hope on his way out. Striking down Jinn was a move that he’d known needed to happen for some time, there’d just been no opportunity.

But now he was dead and gone. And already Palpatine could sense Skywalker's distress through the Force. It felt stronger even than he’d expected. Soon, he could use that emotional maelstrom to bring the boy to him. It would be so easy. He nudged it, intensifying the feelings he sensed once more, for that could only work to his benefits.

And so many of those bothersome copies of Kenobi had been wiped away. All the small ones save a handful were off the board. The surviving mature copies could pose a brief irritation, but he was confident he could take care of them, quietly. So much could happen on a battlefield.

His troopers were on their way back from the station he’d… discovered, courtesy of the thing down in his private workspace. The thing had been surprisingly resistant to his questioning techniques. But he was capable of adaptation, of changing his strategies. He’d found a solution that worked.

The thing still lived, barely. Palpatine had considered disposing of it, it was tiresome, the way it wept. But it might know more yet, so he ensured it stayed alive, ignoring it’s slurred claims that it’s brothers would come for it.

They had no way of knowing what was happening to it, and they never would. 

He leaned back in his chair, sighing. His plans would need adjusting, with Grievous dead and with what his troopers had found in the station, but everything was salvageable, still. Even if all went wrong, he would still win.

He had an army, after all. And the Jedi had nothing that could stand against him.


	7. Chapter 7

They did not return immediately to the  _ Fallen Star _ , after General Jinn’s funeral. There was too much to do by far on Coruscant, it seemed. Once was bunked in the Jedi Temple, and he dreaded it, for a moment, sure that Master Yoda would put him back in General Jinn’s old quarters.

That didn’t happen. Instead, Master Yoda gave him a bunk assignment in the trooper barracks, and he felt some of the tension drain out of his shoulders. Cody bumped his arm, briefly, as they walked down the halls.

It felt good to sleep there, on the narrow cot, with the comforting buzz of the minds of the Type 1s all around him. He almost slept well, but the pain didn’t allow that. It was worse, whatever was wrong with his nervous system. He  _ hurt _ , deep down and constantly. He thought about telling the medics, lying in the bed, curled on his side, trying to let the pain go to the Force, but what could they do?

They hadn’t been able to mitigate the problem yet, to halt it, to even stop the pain. 

He managed to sleep around it, somehow. Exhaustion could have that effect, he supposed. It had been so long since he slept. When he awoke, one of his brothers was sitting across from him on the next bunk, cross legged, watching him.

“Nith?” he said, rubbing his face and sitting up. Cody felt… alright. Awake already. They weren’t bunking in the same area. 

Nith smiled at him, wide and easy. Once tried to remember what smiling like that felt like. “Once,” he said, standing and moving forward, clasping Once’s hand, pulling him close, resting the sides of their heads together and  _ oh _ . 

He’d not felt the mind of one of his brothers for so long. He shut his eyes, tightening his grip, but Nith went nowhere.  _ I heard you were stealing my General _ , Nith said, but without any sharpness, just a sense of amusement.

_ Sorry about that _ , Once said, though he didn’t mean it, much. Nith would probably be happier without a General looking over his shoulder. Once would have been. He shifted that thought to the side, wincing a little at the redoubled pain that had come into his mind.  _ The nerve pain, _ he asked,  _ has it gotten worse for you, too? _

Nith moved, pulling away enough to raise an eyebrow at him.  _ Worse? Not lately. _ And Nith reached out as Once did, a simple comparison of the levels of pain between them. Once flinched back, because, if anything, Nith felt  _ worse _ than he did.

_ You’ve felt this way for how long?  _ he asked, alarm and confusion bringing him the rest of the way to awake. He’d thought they all felt roughly the same levels of pain, but Nith’s were definitely more severe.

_ A few months _ . Nith watched him, all his good humor fled.  _ And yours just started. When you got here? _

Once nodded, standing, feeling the need to go and do something, though there was nowhere to go and nothing to do. He ran a hand back over his head.  _ And I’ve been feeling a - a pull. Here. To Coruscant _ .

Nith stared up at him and then stood, his expression grim.  _ You feel it still, don’t you? I do, too. I’ve been… Trying to find where it goes. I think I have a pretty good idea. It was easier to look last night, with you on the planet. _

A dozen suggestions sleeted through Once’s mind. Nith picked up on them, mouth quirking again in the corner.  _ I’ve got leave, _ Once thought, carefully,  _ until General Yoda is ready to leave the planet. _

_ Good _ , Nith said.  _ Then you can help me check it out. _

#

Everything had gone wrong, and Anakin didn’t know how to make any of it right. Qui-Gon was gone - gone in every sense of the word. Ahsoka was cool with him, civil but closed off. And Ben was floating in the bacta tank, wounds healing ever so slowly. It got harder to look at him, somehow, as the bruises on his shoulder faded.

He imagined the battle on the station a hundred times, a thousand, unable to shake the images, until he shook his head and marched from the medbay. A trooper informed him, when he asked, that Tarkin had long since departed the  _ Resolute _ .

Which was… unfortunate. Anakin needed to - to do something, to everyone who had been involved in the mission. He’d start at the top and work his way down, if necessary. He ended up in his quarters, pacing even as he sent a transmission to Tarkin. It was almost a surprise when it connected.

“Ah,” Tarkin said, flickering a beat as the holo stabilized. “General Skywalker. What can I do for you?”

Anakin ground his jaw. His knuckles itched and he shook out his hand. He said, carefully, “I wanted to congratulate you on your mission.”

Tarkin smiled, thinly. “Thank you, General. It was indeed productive. Was there anything else?”

Cold ran down Anakin’s spine. He hadn’t been sure, before, that anyone else had survived. After all, for all he knew, Ben had been the last member of the team to make it. He’d had nothing but a suspicion that it wasn’t so. But if it was  _ productive _ , then someone had made it out. Someone had accomplished whatever the goal had been. Information gathering, Anakin supposed. “Mm,” he said, shifting, trying to measure his breathing. “There was. Because your team left my - my Lieutenant-Commander behind.”

There’d been a team with Ben, obviously. A team that had survived to bring back  _ productive results _ . There’d been a team and they’d  _ left him behind to die _ . Tarkin sighed. “Yes, I understand the… Lieutenant-Commander sacrificed himself to give the rest of the team a fighting chance. He was, reportedly, very heroic in his final moments. They had to get out quickly, afterwards. They couldn’t bring any bodies--”

“He didn’t die,” Anakin cut in, the image of Ben, slumped against that doorway, arriving back in his mind and sticking there.

“What?” Tarkin looked startled, straightening across the holo.

“He’s still alive.” Because Anakin had managed to get to him in time, had managed to push enough of the Force into his body to keep him alive on the flight back to the  _ Resolute _ . “Your men left him behind while he was still alive.”

Tarkin gaped at him before shutting his mouth with a little clicking sound. “That’s.” He glanced to the side. “Outstanding, of course. However did he make it back to you?”

“I went and got him,” Anakin said, flat. He’d washed his hands, but he still felt Ben’s blood on his skin, tacky and itchy. Damning.

“Very heroic,” Tarkin said, mouth quirking. “I must congratulate him in person. It shouldn’t take me long to arrive back at the--”

“I’ll pass on your congratulations,” Anakin interrupted. He’d be Force-damned before he left Tarkin anywhere  _ near  _ Ben again. He should have kicked Tarkin off the  _ Resolute _ as soon as the man let loose his plan.

Tarkin’s smile - if it were a smile, and not a grimace - tightened. “I must insist,” he said, and something in his eyes shifted. “Besides, I have another project that might suit him and--”

“He’s unavailable.” Anakin heard the gears whining in his hand.

Tarkin sighed, barely audible over their connection. “General,” he said, slowly, as though Anakin were a child being especially vexing. “I don’t think you understand--”

“I understand that you’ll stay away from him,” Anakin gritted out, leaning closer to the holo. “Or I’ll make you wish you had.” He waved his hand jerkily to end the connection, bracing both hands on the counter and leaning over, breathing hard for no reason. He wanted to - to track Tarkin down and make him  _ sorry  _ and the taste of anger in the back of his mouth made him sick.

It brought back memories of Ben, of his voice, of  _ you’re hurting me _ . 

Anakin swallowed bile, pressing the back of his hand against his mouth. He banged a fist down on the table, and scrubbed at his face. It was a relief to get a comm message about new orders, a new battle. At least it would give him something else to focus on.

#

Once had never spent much time on Coruscant, just a few days, here and there, with General Jinn. Nith moved through the city like a fish through water, turning into unmarked alleys, scrambling down narrow, twisting ladders, and jumping across to other buildings, sometimes stepping on a moving vehicle or two on the way.

Once followed, letting Nith guide his steps. They moved quickly and quietly through the greater unending noise of the city, towards the hooked pull in Once’s stomach, the one he’d been feeling for so long.

It grew slightly stronger as they went, but it was frustratingly difficult to pin down.  _ I’ve been looking for weeks, months, I guess _ , Nith said, drawing Once into lower levels of the city, through areas that looked like they’d never been seen by a living soul before.  _ Trying to narrow it down. Just wandering around when I was off-duty… _

He trailed off as footsteps approached. They both flattened against the nearest wall, breath held in their chest. Once tugged at the Force, pulling over of it in, gently, blurring them. No one turned into the small passage where they huddled. The click-click of boots, heavy, passed. Once felt two minds, sharp-edged, professional, cold.

Nith gave him a mental nudge and started moving again. They slid out into a larger hall, and Once looked after the retreating minds, catching a flash of red before they stepped around a corner. They’d arrived on a level that looked cleaner, better lit. It didn’t look  _ lived  _ in, exactly. Everything was bare metal, cold and impersonal.

And it felt Dark. Once shuddered. He knew this feeling, he’d been suffused in it, drowned in it, on his mission into Wild Space with Generall Jinn and Senator Organa. He’d never forget the cloying, oily, slickness of it, the way it made him feel stained on the inside of his skin.

_ Where are we?  _ he asked, following Nith as they moved on silent feet, towards a knot of the Dark side.

_ I have no idea _ , Nith said, raising one hand. There was a small camera, in one corner of the hall. It turned away from them and sparked.  _ I found some records about this place, but they were all confusing. Apparently, six different companies own it _ .

They turned another corner, and Once had a wash of alarm through the Force, a moment before a pair of sentry guns started firing at them. His lightsabers were in hand without thought. He fell into form beside Nith, batting bolts back into the guns, leaving them standing in a hallway smelling of blaster fire.  _ What kind of companies? _

_ Not the kind that should need sentry guns _ , Nith shot back, moving forward. In the distance, Once could hear alarms. He gritted his teeth, moving through the creeping Dark, drawing more heavily on his brothers to keep his mind clear.

He didn’t suggest that they turn back. Neither did Nith. The pull was stronger. The pain harder to think around. There was movement in the hall ahead, running feet. Once took a breath, reaching out with the Force as two more guards, all in red, came sprinting around the corner. He shoved them both into the wall. Nith was already on them, resting a hand on each of their helmets, the lash of  _ go to sleep don’t wake up _ echoing in Once’s mind for an instant.

He stared at the guards when Nith stood.  _ Those are Senate guards. The fancy ones. _

_ The ones who guard the Chancellor, yes.  _ Nith’s expression was flat, Once knew it mirrored his own. They turned in step, the barriers between their minds low, moving down the corridor, to a huge door beyond. Once adjusted his grip on both sabers, their spinning light casting strange shadows against the metal walls, and moved forward.

There were more guards, inside. They were waiting, but they weren’t prepared for Once and Nith. Once tried not to hurt them, too badly. He didn’t know what was going on. If he could have thought around the tugging in his head, the stinging Dark, the idea of calling someone to  _ tell them  _ what was going on would have pressed at him more urgently.

But they were needed, up ahead. Once couldn’t think clearly around the dragging pull, moving through the strange complex, past machines he didn’t understand, to  _ another  _ door, in front of a space that felt empty and aching. The twisting knot of the Dark energy in this place. It all but radiated outward, suffocating.

Nith drove the blade of one saber into the metal and started cutting down, without any need for discussion or shared thought. Once turned as he worked, batting aside a storm of blaster bolts, shoving the guards  _ back _ , taking the strength offered by his brothers. He turned only when he felt a rush of cold horror from Nith, so powerful it almost knocked him down. He jerked the guards sideways, needing  _ rid  _ of them, and turned.

Nith was already in the room, and it was like he’d disappeared, like he’d died, but Once could still see him, alive and moving towards the table in the center of the room. There was… something on it, something wet and red, and it took Once’s mind a lurching moment to make sense of the shape.

Nith had reached the table by then, reaching out a shaking hand, touching the forehead of their brother, strapped down to the horrible device. Once closed his fingers instinctively, hearing, from far away, gasping and gagging. It didn’t last long. He moved into the room, feeling the Force go away, uncaring.

Nith tore at the restraints across their brother, slicing through metal with the blade of a saber. Once joined him, mind skidding away from the ruin. He was - Once had never seen - seen anything like what had been done to him. He thought his brother must be dead, but there was rattling breath in his chest, still, a machine beeping steadily beside him, connected to him by dozens of wires and tubes.

His eyes fluttered open, as Once and Nith worked. Well, one of them, the iris brilliant green. Once could feel nothing from him. Nothing at all. He couldn’t touch their minds for identification. The Force was silent in the room. It couldn’t exist where something like this would happen. Once understood that.

“It’s alright,” he said, clumsy and aloud. He’d know Elik’s green eyes anywhere, even without their connection. None of their other brothers had gotten that strange little flaw, not bothersome enough for their creators to take Elik away. “It’s alright, we’ve got you now.”

Elik’s mouth crooked. “Please,” he rasped, voice a ruined thing.

“We can’t move him,” Nith said, tension and horror in his tone. “He’ll--”

“Please,” Elik slurred, one more time, gaze moving over to the machine, and Once moved without thought, slicing through it, through all the wires and tubes, getting it  _ off of him _ . Elik made a soft sound, relief.

“Sithspit,” Nith swore, low and with feeling, curling over, sliding arms under Elik’s shoulders and knees, lifting him. “We need to get out of here.” Once didn’t need told. There were more cameras, all around the room.  _ Someone _ knew they were there.

He gripped his sabers, moving towards the door, leading the way, and stumbling into a wall as soon as they passed out of the terrible room. Pain lashed through him, up his spine, into his skull, through every cell. Elik’s pain, no longer muted by the room. Nith made a choking sound, and fell, both knees hitting the ground. He did not drop Elik, though, holding him close, cradled.

_ I knew you’d find me _ , Elik said, clear and so full of relief and gratitude that it cored out everything left remaining in Once’s chest.  _ I knew you’d come for me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I tried to be strong, I tried- _ -

Once slid down to join them on the ground, pushing comfort into Elik, drawing his pain away. He could feel, now, how hopeless the situation was. The machine had been the only thing keeping Elik alive. And it hadn’t been a true life. He was - he was missing too much, too many pieces, to continue on. Once could only curl his arms around both Nith and Elik, the three of them huddled in the middle of the hall.

_ Thank you _ , Elik thought at them both, sharp and clear, full of relief, and then he was gone. The pain of the loss cut sharp at Once, but it was almost lost in the sudden  _ absence  _ of the agony he’d grown so used to, the pain the medics had said was a result of their failing central nervous system. It disappeared as Elik went limp and still.

That pain had been with Once for  _ months _ . For months, Elik had been here, projecting his agony outward, calling for them. Once pushed back, turning to the side, shoulders heaving as his stomach emptied. He panted, looking back at Nith, who was rocking Elik back and forth, his expression stricken and empty.

Once gripped his shoulder, leaned their foreheads together, and thought,  _ We’ll take him away from here _ . It was all they could do, all they had left to offer. He yanked at his vambraces and pulled his tunic off. It was smeared with blood, but that hardly mattered. Nith worked with him, shifting so Once could wrap the fabric around Elik, covering him up.

Nith shrugged out of his own tunic as Once finished, letting Once hold Elik for a moment. He felt… light. Terribly so. Someone had made him a shell, taken all the living parts of him away. Once held him a little closer, smoothing back his tangled hair, as Nith wrapped his legs, and took him back.

_ We have to go _ , Once thought, remembering too well the cameras. All the guards, in Senate red. He was thinking more clearly, now that the pull in his gut was gone, now that the pain had disappeared, taken with his brother into the grave. He could feel the Dark closing in around them, a hungry snare.  _ We have to go right now, Nith _ .

Nith blinked at him, eyes so full of horror there was no room for anything else. He hadn’t seen battle, Once had to remind himself. Nith had been on Coruscant. He’d been in the library. He did not know the full horrors of what filled the universe. Or he hadn’t.

Once pulled on him until he stood.  _ You keep hold of him _ , Once said, retrieving his sabers from where they’d fallen.  _ And follow me _ . 

#

Anakin needed to do  _ something _ , and there were battles to fight, but they didn’t feel nearly as satisfying as he hoped. All the fighting did was keep them away from Dathomir. Left with an unending ache in his gut, and time he didn’t want, his mind kept circling back to the mission Ben had gone on.

He was thinking about Ben, lying, alone and dying, on some empty kriffing station, when he landed his fighter after another skirmish with the Separatists. He’d taken a hit, in the fight, a computer console bursting into flames in the process. The burns across his arm felt like a punishment; he almost considered not going to the medbay.

But he needed to check on Ben, anyway. He sensed the agitation and worry coming from the medbay before he reached it, and sped up, hitting a run by the time he reached the doors. He pushed through to find medics clustered around the bacta tanks, barking at one another. There were alarms ringing out, warnings. 

Ben was shaking in the tank. Convulsing. Anakin lurched forward, demanding, “What’s happening?”

A medic cast him a look, harried. “It’s his neurotransmitters again, sir, he’s--”

But Anakin was no longer paying attention. He swore and leapt to the tops of the tanks, pushing aside the medic leaning over the opened tube, the man’s arms covered with bacta as he made futile adjustments to the machinery holding Ben. “I’ll need a breather,” Anakin snapped, and dropped into the tank.

They weren’t meant for two people. The bacta felt thick and viscous against his skin. It soothed the burn on his arm, though he cared little. He reached out for Ben, put hands on him, trying not to yank him; Ben was still hurt, so badly. His body didn’t need this kind of stress. Anakin could  _ feel  _ his presence in the Force wavering, alarmingly.

He felt the tug, the familiar pull, at the back of his head and in his chest. Ben stopped shaking, his presence in the Force stabilizing as his body took whatever it was it needed from Anakin. His mind pulled Anakin in, and Anakin flinched, almost jerking away, at the flash of pain, of agony in his shoulder, smelling blaster fire, seeing his own eyes--

He pushed the sensations back, gritting his teeth. His lungs burned, fiercely, but letting go was - was almost unthinkable. It was a relief when a breather dropped down through the bacta. He pulled it over with the Force, grabbed it, fitted it into his mouth, pushed out the bacta, and took a grateful breath. 

Someone rapped on the outside of the tank. Anakin turned to look, and a medic gestured approvingly, showing him a screen with information that meant nothing to Anakin. He nodded back, heart rate finally starting to slow, at least enough that he could distinguish individuals beats.

He breathed in, no sound but the hum of the tank, and carefully worked an arm around Ben, around the tubes and wires and injuries. He leaned his forehead against the side of Ben’s head, and focused on drawing the healing energy of the Force closer.

He could at least  _ do  _ something, while hanging there in the bacta. He must have drifted, at some point, because he woke to more knocking on the tank. He blinked, groggy, and looked over to find Ahsoka. She was pointing upward. He nodded, and disentangled himself, carefully. He pushed upward, and medics grabbed at his arms, helping him out of the tank.

He sat, dripping, breathing fresh air, and nodded down to Ahsoka. She frowned at him, arms crossed, and he looked away, taking the towel handed to him by a medic. He shrugged out of his sodden robes, after jumping down from the tank, listening to medics reassure him that, yes, Ben’s levels were all in a safe range.

He glanced at Ahsoka. She felt… shut off, still. He grimaced, “He was--”

“I heard,” she said, and dropped her shoulders a little. “It was… kind of you to help.” She glanced at him, cautiously, out of the corner of her eyes, and he wondered what she was looking  _ for _ . He could only shrug. 

He cleared his throat. “So, what’s up?”

“We’re picking up some scout ships. Pretty far away, still, but…” She made a face. “Thought you should probably be up and about, Master.” He’d been  _ master _ , since Geonosis. No more Skyguy. Definitely not Anakin. 

He knew she wanted an apology. He’d - he’d  _ known _ , distantly, that something was going wrong on her trip with Barriss. They all had. But there’d been no time to rush out to the rescue. And she’d been fine, the way he’d known she would be. There had been… so many other things, going wrong, at the same time. He’d done what he had to do. If he’d gone after her, Ben would be dead.

He shook his head, nodding towards the door. He needed to dry off and get fresh clothes, if he was going to be crawling back into his fighter. He said, as they walked, “Ahsoka, I--” He saw her stiffen out of the corner of his eyes. “We should talk about Dathomir. After this.”

She nodded, curt, and said, “Yes, Master.”

#

Cody didn’t expect to be awoken by a tiny green Jedi, what felt like only a handful of hours after he’d gone to sleep. Apparently, Master Yoda had use for him, pulling him from his bunk to ask dozens of questions about the operations of the  _ Fallen Star  _ and the 212th. 

Cody walked him through everything. It felt strange, trying to get a new General up to speed. He’d worked with General Jinn since the outbreak of the war. He figured they’d all be in for a period of adjustment. He kept his own questions behind his teeth, for the most part. It wasn’t his place to ask for more information than a General wanted to share.

Besides, the thing he wanted to ask about the most, the chip inside his head, couldn’t very well be discussed as they walked the halls of the  _ Fallen Star _ . He only offered a question as they moved past the spare rooms where, currently, the young Type 2s were staying. He nodded at the doors. “What’s going to happen to them, General?”

Yoda drew to a stop, mouth twisting up. He leaned on his cane. Cody couldn’t imagine him actually participating in battle, though he had it on good authority that Yoda could be deadly when roused to it. It just seemed unlikely. “A good question, that is. Requested to take custody of them, has the Senate.”

“The Senate?” Cody’s skin prickled, all over. He thought of the command codes he’d found back on Kamino. 

“Mm,” Yoda said, bobbing his head. “A concern for us as well, it is.”

“Can you refuse them?” Cody grimaced at his own lack of control. It was just that one of the kids, a tiny thing with Once’s big eyes, had gripped Cody’s hand the entire way up to the  _ Fallen Star _ , after the attack on Kamino, pressed close to his legs and trembling. He didn’t know what the Senate was doing, but he didn’t want them entrusted with any of the Type 2s. He added, belatedly, “General.”

Yoda took a breath. “Trying, we are. Pointed out that they have not the experience to handle such children, we have.”

“And?” Cody prompted, because he knew an unfinished sentence when he heard one, even in Yoda’s unique syntax.

“And argued they are not children, the Senate representative has. Claims they are Senate materiel, he has.” Cody flinched. “Bring the issue before the full Senate, we will. Work to keep them at the Temple, we will.” And Cody did not point out that they were not Jedi, not really.

The kids clearly hadn’t been safe on Kamino. He didn’t know where else they might be safer than the Jedi Temple, even if they didn’t fit the Jedi mold very well. He didn’t have a better suggestion; they couldn’t keep them on the  _ Fallen Star _ , they saw far too much battle for that. 

He shook his head, preparing to move their tour forward, when his radio crackled against his ear. “Commander,” one of his tactical officers said, sounding tense, “we’re receiving a distress signal from the Lieutenant-Commander. He says he needs immediate evac.”

Cody jerked. He’d left Once sleeping in the Jedi Temple, presumably to get some rest. He turned, momentarily forgetting that there was a General aboarship, and that Yoda should  _ probably  _ be handling this situation. “Send a ship,” he snapped, only then glancing back at Yoda. “If that’s alright with you, sir?”

Yoda stared at him, expression distant. “Yes,” he said, after a moment, shuddering all over. “ _ Now _ .”

#

Once registered and accepted that he was likely about to die. It was worth it. They’d gotten Elik out of there, freed him from the torture that he’d been subjected to. He’d willingly give his life for that.

They’d managed to get out of the complex, but they’d been pursued. Guards had come from everywhere, apparently intent on killing them. Once could guess why. It certainly wouldn’t do to have them living to spread the word that guards in Senate red had been keeping one of their brothers in some underground facility, tearing his body to pieces.

They’d done alright, for a time, but eventually they’d run out of building. They’d reached the surface and come to the end of a hallway, with no doors and no windows leading out. Nith had set Elik gently down and was carving a way out. Once stood between them and the guards, no longer so worried about ensuring he didn’t kill any of them.

It took all the focus he had to deflect back blaster bolts, taking the power Nith offered, drawing it close. He’d commed the  _ Fallen Star  _ for help, but wasn’t entirely sure they’d heard him. Communications were spotty.

He held out little hope as Nith finally carved through the wall and pushed it away with the Force, sending the piece of metal spiralling out. He felt the crash of frustration in Nith’s mind and risked a glance. There was nothing beyond the wall, just an expanse of traffic, vehicles swarming like a swarm of predatory insects.

Going out into the madness was almost certain death. Once blocked another wave of blaster bolts. Staying where they were was only barely more dangerous.  _ Go _ , he thought,  _ quickly _ . Nith was already kneeling, gathering Elik back into his arms. They’d have to try to jump for it, to skip across ships, hoping - 

Once jerked as a shadow blocked off the light that had flooded through the wall. He twisted, expecting some new method of attack, and let out a ragged breath when he recognized the emblem painted on the drop ship hovering before the building.

_ Once?  _ Nith asked, hesitating there.

_ My battalion _ , Once said, even as the side door opened and troopers reached out, waving at them both desperately. Nith didn’t wait for further confirmation. He leapt across the distance, troopers catching at him, pulling him into the ship. Once shoved out at the guards still firing, turned, and sprinted, leaping the distance and sliding into the ship.

He reached out a hand to steady himself, and Cody was there, putting hands on his shoulders, demanding, “Are you alright? What happened? What’s going on?”

Once shook his head, curling fingers into Cody’s armor for stability, even as their craft lifted away, up through the civilian traffic. He could feel the thrum of horror coming from Nith, even still, as troopers gathered around him. Cody looked over at them, and swore softly. “One of your brothers?”

It must have been hard to tell, Once realized. Elik didn’t look very much like the rest of them anymore. “Yes,” he croaked, shuddering. “Elik. We found him.”

Cody turned back to look at him, eyes wider. “You found him. Where?”

Once waved a hand. All the horror that he’d pushed to the side was catching up, stealing into his mind and making itself known. He leaned more of his weight on Cody. “There are rooms down there. A whole complex. Commander.” He swallowed again. His mouth tasted like acid. “There were - there were guards in red there.”

Cody stiffened, glancing around at the other troopers. “Like--”

“Yes.” For a moment, Once thought maybe Cody would question it again, but he only swore, softly.

He said, “We need to speak to the General. Right away.”

Once nodded, and then jerked away, feeling Nith’s upset even as he said, “No!” One of the troopers was close, attempting to coax Nith into letting go of Elik. “No, he’s - don’t touch him.”

Once moved over, in hurried steps, but the trooper didn’t look hurt by the outburst, only nodding, a sick expression on his face. Once sank down beside Nith, in any case, leaning against him, and they huddled there, on the ship, as the shaking started in Once’s hands, and Cody gripped his shoulder, briefly, all the affection they could spare while on duty, on the way past to the front of the ship.

#

Cody lost track of Once, after they returned to the  _ Fallen Star _ and made their report to Master Yoda. There was so much to do, all at once. He watched Once disappear with his living brother, bearing the dead man away, and shuddered, making himself busy, pushing all the thoughts to the side until he could get away.

He found Once later, in the showers, standing under the spray of water, staring at nothing. Boil was lingering near the door, and he nodded at Cody, ducking out of the room. Cody sighed, making his way over, grabbing a towel, turning off the water.

Once blinked over at him, took the towel when he held it out. He’d broken out in gooseflesh, under the water. His hair was all plastered to his head. His hands and forearms were red, scrubbed raw. He said, “He said he knew we’d come for him, but we didn’t.”

Cody flinched. He’d gotten a look at the body, and a report from a medic who’d been on hand when Once and Nith handled Elik. They hadn’t wanted anyone else to touch him. Cody couldn’t blame them. “Once, there was…” There was no good way to say:  _ he was going to die no matter what you did, he’d been dead for a long time, just forced to keep breathing and suffering _ . “You did come for him.”

Once shook his head, a sharp jerk. “Not quickly enough. He’d been calling to us for  _ months _ .” Once turned away, dragging a hand through his hair, moving in fast, jerky steps. “While someone--” He cut off, waving a hand, and Cody didn’t need him to finish the sentence.

He’d seen enough to know what someone had done. It made him feel ill and furious, all at the same time. Each time he blinked, he saw the injuries again, and they were on  _ Once’s _ face, his body, the form he shared with his brother. Cody swallowed hard, looking to the side, working to keep his breathing even, his jaw from clenching so hard his teeth shattered.

“You found him,” Cody said, when he trusted his voice. “You gave him peace, Once.”

Once shuddered, all over, all the color running out of his face. For a moment, Cody thought he would be ill, but Once managed to swallow it back. He said, hoarse, “That’s not good enough.”

“Once…” Cody shifted forward, touching his shoulder, and Once let out a punchy little breath, turning into his touch. Cody grunted, wrapping arms around him, pulling him closer. He wished he weren’t wearing armor. It had to be cold and unpleasant against all Once’s skin, bare still, cool and covered with droplets of water.

Once held onto him, wet hair pressing against Cody’s cheek. “We’re going to find out who did this,” he said, lowly.

Cody nodded. He couldn’t agree more with that. He didn’t know how, but he’d already ordered - with General Yoda’s blessing, he’d gotten used to managing the Jedi into doing what needed done - troopers down to search the levels where this atrocity had taken place. They’d find something. They’d bring back a lead. And then…

Once tightened his grip. “And my brothers and I are going to kill them.”

#

The promised discussion of Dathomir took days to appear. Ahsoka tried to understand, and, anyway, she was getting good at waiting. It wasn’t even Anakin’s fault, really. He didn’t control the Separatist attacks that had them either fighting or grabbing a few precious hours to rest. 

It was just that she’d been holding the news inside herself for so long. She’d had a breakthrough while on the ship with Barriss, and had felt terribly guilty, hesitating to share the news with her new friend. She didn’t know who to trust, and while Barriss  _ seemed _ like the friend she’d been looking for….

Ahsoka hadn’t dared risk it, at first, instead holding her secret close, letting it eat away at her. She’d felt less guilty about it, marginally, when they finally reached safe harbor, and General Unduli’s Type 2 - who had been in communication with them for the final, desperate leg of the journey - stepped towards Barriss.

She’d  _ felt  _ the unspoken yearning from Barriss, when Lorn placed a brief hand on her shoulder. She’d watched her friend glance up at him, cheeks darkening, and then look away again, and she’d felt a little better, knowing there was something Barriss hadn’t shared with her, either.

The way they’d touched, the emotions she’d felt from Barriss, had eaten away at her. Enough so that she’d lain awake in the quarters they’d ended up sharing, staring up at the ceiling, until Barriss sighed and said, “What, Ahsoka?”

And she hadn’t meant to project. She thought she’d gotten better at keeping her emotions contained. Mediating with Ben had helped with that, a lot. She’d swallowed. “Nothing,” she’d said. “I just…. Lieutenant-Commander Lorn.”

She’d heard Barriss roll over. “What about him?”

“You…” Ahsoka’d waved a hand. She’d felt stung, a bit, watching Barriss look at him. Like someone on the outside, looking in, wanting to feel that same connection to another person. Jealous, a bit, that no one looked at her that way. She knew, even, that the Type 2s were attractive. At least Ben was. It was difficult for her to think about Lorn that way, her thoughts just slid away from him. She’d thrown an arm over her face, hating the heat in her cheeks. “He’s kind of older, isn’t he?”

She’d heard Barriss sit up, heard the sharp edge to her voice when she said, “Ahsoka, I’m almost  _ twice  _ his age. And that’s not - not even - he’s been out here for less than a year.”

Ahsoka’s stomach had turned, twisting, as the words settled. She’d thought about all the troopers, about Ben, about the Type 1s. They looked - she’d never really considered, before, how old they really were. “What?”

“They’re not as old as they look,” Barriss had said, rising from her bunk, like she was too angry to stay. “And it’s not right, what we’re doing to them. Making them fight for us. Making them die for us. Nothing about this is right. Nothing.”

“Barriss,” Ahsoka had said, but she’d been gone already, out the door. She hadn’t come back, but Ahsoka had found her the next day, had drawn her aside and told her in whispered words about Dathomir and all the rest. “Don’t tell anyone else,” Ahsoka had said, looking into Barriss’s dark eyes and feeling better about  _ someone  _ else knowing.

That had been days ago, and Barriss’s words still bounced around in her skull. They’d echoed when she’d looked at Ben, hanging in a bacta tank, with Anakin sitting there in front of him, radiating guilt so thick it made the air difficult to breathe. They’d echoed when Rex came to check on her, and for the first time she’d looked at him and thought  _ I’m older than you _ .

He’d pushed some of his food over onto her plate, and talked to her about the mission, and made sure she was alright, and she’d wondered who was taking care of him. Who was taking care of  _ any  _ of them.

She had a sickening feeling she knew the answer, by the time the Dathomir conversation finally happened. Anakin didn’t look like he’d been sleeping, when he finally called her to his quarters. There was red through his eyes, dark circles under them. He’d bandaged his arm; it looked like he’d done it himself.

She could feel hurt, coming off of him, physical pain coming across their bond, and she frowned. “Master, your arm…”

He waved a hand, his metallic hand. He wasn’t covering it up, anymore, and it was strange to see it exposed. Jarring. She hadn’t asked why, what had prompted the change, but she thought about the dark bruises around Ben’s shoulder, the shape of fingers, and thought maybe she didn’t want to know. “It’s fine,” he said. “So. Dathomir.”

“Dathomir,” she said, moving past the tension in her chest. “I double-checked. That’s  _ definitely  _ where the ship came from, I just… can’t figure out why. It doesn’t seem like anything else comes from there.”

“Darth Maul did,” Anakin said, expression set and hard. Ahsoka froze, staring at him. “Master Qui-Gon, uh, found out that much. About him, after…” He trailed off, jaw working for a moment. “After Naboo.”

“But he’s dead,” Ahsoka said, carefully. She’d read up on Anakin’s history, after Ben showed up. It had seemed like a good idea, though there’d been little happy in the story, and it had only grown sadder. “Right? He died.”

“Obi-Wan killed him, yeah.” Anakin was staring at nothing, just looking forward.

“So…” It was difficult, to keep nursing the hurt in her chest, talking with Anakin. She’d known it would be. It always was. It felt easier, to concentrate on the mystery in front of them, to put aside the tension that she felt, looking at him. “So why would someone from there go to Kamino?”

Anakin shrugged. “I’ve got no idea, Snips.” He caught himself, on the nickname, flinching a little. She let it pass. She couldn’t - it hurt, that he hadn’t come to check on her. But she wasn’t an idiot. And she cared about Ben, too. She was  _ glad  _ he wasn’t dead. “We’re going to have to go and find out.”

She nodded. She’d known that, before he said it. “When?”

He shook his head. “As soon as we can. But…” But they’d already received new orders. It felt impossible to get anything productive done, though she felt immediately guilty for the thought. The war was bigger than they were. Everyone was counting on them. Mysteries just… had to wait.

#

Nith cleaned Elik’s skin and sent him onward, standing beside Once. And it wasn’t enough. He itched. He wanted to go back down to Coruscant, to those terrible rooms and tear them apart until answers poured out of the walls.

But even as he considered it, a feeling of deep dread and darkness crept through his mind, entering on an inhale and staying there, growing. Something awful was happening, was  _ still  _ happening. It was not a surprise, really, when the troopers from the  _ Fallen Star  _ returned and informed them that there was nothing on the levels where they’d found their brother.

There were no signs of guards in red. No signs of a room where the Force didn’t work. No signs of battle or bloodshed.

The only proof was the blood on his robe and the blaster burn across Once’s ribs. Master Yoda listened to the reports, looked over and Nith and Once, and felt grim through the Force. He requested a hearing with the Senate about it; the bad feeling in Nith’s chest spread further.

It took days, before the Chancellor agreed to hear their concerns in a small, private setting. No need to involve the entire Senate, his answering missive had said, for such a matter. Nith spent the days in the libraries, though he didn’t research Jedi history.

The databanks in the archives contained all kinds of information. And they could be used to look for so much more. No one seemed to care what Nith used them for. In fact, the archivists tended to smile at him and speak with him gently, always with a hint of sadness around their eyes.

They’d known his progenitor, too. It felt like everyone in the Temple did, from the Healers - including a Mon Calamari named Bant who could barely look at him most days - to the members of the Council. His presence there hurt them and comforted them, he thought sometimes in equal measure. He had expected, during his first weeks at the Temple, to be sent away, even though Master Yoda rarely left the Temple.

Instead, they’d let him stay, until something about the quality of their grief changed. He’d grown used to it. It was an undercurrent that was there when he woke up in the morning and remained through his dreams.

Their sadness shifted, after the murder of Elik. It grew sharper. There was always someone around him. Gone were the days when he was often left alone for hours in the library. They did not  _ say _ more than they used to, but they were always  _ there _ . Nith allowed the intrusions; he had no choice and there were other things he was worried about.

His thoughts were busy when they were finally brought before a Senate sub-committee. Master Yoda was there, with them. A few troopers accompanied them, including the Commander of the battalion. Nith had thought to tease Once about that, the vague memories and affection he felt between them, back before everything went completely wrong.

Teasing no longer seemed worth the effort.

The sub-committee was full of faces Nith knew from the records he’d been digging into. The Chancellor was not there. No doubt he felt the need to handle other business, beyond a cursory hearing to inform them that the Senate did not care.

“Master Yoda,” Senator Amedda said, sitting back in his chair, smiling with all his teeth. “We understand you are concerned about the loss of one of your clones. Truly, it appears he met a tragic end, but we believe the situation may have been… misrepresented, by the other clones.”

“Hm. Explain, you will,” Master Yoda said. Nith felt Once stiffen, at his side, and reached out to him. This felt little like a surprise to Nith.  _ Someone  _ had cleaned out the levels where Elik had been held.  _ Someone  _ had made everyone disappear. It would have had to be  _ someone  _ with extensive amounts of power. And they’d seen the red clad guards…

Amedda waved a hand. “We have found no signs of this… facility the clones spoke of. I believe it is fair to say that  _ your  _ troopers likewise found nothing, in their initial assessment. Not so much as a blaster mark, is that not correct?”

Yoda inclined his head, his feelings inscrutable through the Force. “Still, a murder, there was.”

“Oh, to be certain,” Amedda said. “It seems obvious that the clone fell into dangerous company. There are dangerous sorts in the lower levels, you know that.”

Yoda tilted his head to the side, eyes heavy-lidded. “Saw guards clad in red, my men did.”

Amedda shrugged, the movement crinkling his fine, heavy robes. “Perhaps they thought they did. This body does question the… veracity of their testimony.” He raised a hand when Nith and Once both stiffened. “We do not say they lie intentionally, but it is not true that their entire production line has suffered several defects? They may have  _ thought  _ they saw something. But we have no physical proof to support any of their more… outrageous claims.” He smiled, again. “Surely you do not believe the Chancellor’s personal guard had anything to do with such a base murder?”

Nith felt the audience ending. He stared at Amedda, using Once’s borrowed strength to reach out to the man, feeling the oil slickness of his thoughts. 

They were dismissed, sent away, Elik’s torture and murder brushed away as some random act by malcontents. But Nith believed -  _ knew  _ \- every step of the way, what they had seen, what they had done, what it all meant.

And if it was proof they wanted, it was proof he’d give them.

He pulled Once close, when they arrived back at the Temple. General Yoda had been dismissed so thoroughly the Senate had seen fit to send him offworld, into battle. Nith rested his temple against Once’s, feeling determination equal to his own echoing back.  _ May the Force be with you _ , Once said, pulling back to join his General.

Nith watched him walk away, feeling calm and still as the water on Kamino before a storm. He had work to do, a task that he would accomplish no matter the costs. He thought,  _ And with you, too, brother. With us all. _

#

Ben stayed in the tanks longer than Anakin could remember the medics ever leaving someone in there. He haunted the medbay during those long days, listening to talk of the slow healing of internal organs, injuries to different body systems, the damage that might not be healed.

Ben had been most of the way dead, when Anakin carried him onto the  _ Resolute _ . He didn’t look much better when Anakin received a message from one of the medics, informing him that Ben was finally being pulled out of the tank.

Anakin found himself standing in front of the medbay, without much of a memory of how he’d gotten there. He’d had dreams and nightmares about them pulling Ben out of the tank, in near equal measure over the last few days. Half his waking thoughts had been consumed with it, with needing to - to make things right, between them.

He paused outside the door, straightening his robes, ignoring the ache in his chest, the burn in the back of his neck. He stepped into the room to find Ben already sitting on a medical bed, wrapped in a blanket, droplets of bacta dripping off of his hair as a medic spoke with him. 

Ben looked… Bad. Thinner, from his time in the tank without solid nutrition. There were circles under his eyes. His fingers curled too tight into the blanket. He was shivering a bit, Anakin could see even from a distance. And there was no focus on his expression. He was just staring forward, as the medic talked, eyes wide and blank.

Anakin swallowed, pain slipping between his ribs like the blade of a knife. He reached, cautiously, for their connection, daring to hope that it would be returned, but it was still nothing but flayed edges. It  _ did  _ get Ben’s attention, though. He raised his head and turned to look at Anakin, expression unchanging. Anakin took it as a sign to approach closer, to ask, “How are you feeling?”

Ben stared at him, unblinking, and the medic said, “It’ll probably take him a while to come to entirely. But his scans look alright. No signs of brain damage. Just give him a few minutes.”

Anakin nodded, barely registering it when the medic marched off, pulling a curtain around them as he went. And just like that, they were alone in the quiet. Ben smelled of bacta. He looked small, sitting on the table with his shoulders hunched, his bare feet hanging down. But at least he wasn’t covered with blood. At least he was put back together.

“I…” Anakin had to stop, to clear his throat. He didn’t know where to  _ start _ . He’d thought about it, over and over again in the last days. He opened his mouth and swallowed the words back when Ben slid to his feet, reaching out to grab the tunic waiting on the edge of the bed. “I’m not sure you should be standing,” he said, feeling foolish even as he did.

Ben shrugged off the blanket. He wore only thin pants beneath. Anakin had a glimpse of all the new scars, and then Ben was pulling on the tunic, the fabric sticking to the moisture still on his skin. He said, tone flat, “I’m fine, sir.”

Anakin winced, but that was - the important thing was that he was alright. Anakin shook his head, reaching out to touch Ben’s arm, carefully, softly, Force, he’d never grab Ben again. “Listen, I - I know you’re probably tired - I - I just need to talk to you, just for a minute.”

He felt Ben flinch under his touch. It was strange, how his expression didn’t move at all. Anakin desperately needed some hint at his emotions. He stretched out a mental touch, one more time, and got nothing but a twitch of Ben’s mouth, down in the corners. “Of course, sir,” Ben said, looking somewhere over Anakin’s shoulder. “Whatever you need.” 

And it - it was too much. This distance, his cool tone, the way his eyes wouldn’t focus. Anakin shifted, leaning a little closer, and Ben turned his face to the side. Anakin found the words he’d been looking for, anyway, each one dragged up from his gut, “I’m so kriffing sorry, Ben. I didn’t mean--”

“But you did,” Ben interrupted, still looking to the side. His voice was quiet and more terrible for it. Anakin would have rather been yelled at. Not even Ahsoka had yelled at him, when he’d finally found a way to apologize to her for not checking on her enough after her mission - during her mission. She’d just looked at him with sad eyes. “You did mean it. There’s a part of you that’s hated me, since the first time you saw me. Because I look like  _ him _ .”

Anakin froze, feeling the way his hands tightened on Ben’s side, his arm, jerking his hands off.  _ Never again _ . “No--”

“Yes,” Ben said, looking up to meet his eyes, finally. His eyes flashed, some life coming into them. “Because Obi-Wan Kenobi died a hero on Naboo, and you’ve always resented him for that. For all the grief you felt from Qui-Gon when he took you as apprentice. For the way Qui-Gon  _ still  _ grieved when you were knighted, thinking about how he’d never been able to knight his last apprentice, never letting you have  _ anything  _ of your own.”

Anakin gaped down at him, each word cutting across his flesh like a blade. They were the darkest thoughts he’d had, the ones he buried deep and desperately on his worst nights. He’d pushed them all across at Ben, on the  _ Fallen Star _ . The thought that he knew, knew  _ any  _ of those thoughts burned bile up through Anakin’s throat.

Ben glared up with his jaw jutted and his face blotchy with color. He continued, flat and hoarse, “Because you’ve  _ always  _ compared yourself to him and found yourself wanting.”

Anakin flinched. “That’s not--it’s wasn’t just - everyone compared--”

“No. They didn’t,” Ben said, turning aside. He took a step, and Anakin caught him, helplessly, unable to stop himself, nausea filling up his gut.

“Ben,” he said, hearing the desperation in his own voice. “Please, I love you, don’t--”

“Don’t touch me,” Ben said, quietly, into the space between them, shaking. “Never again.”

Anakin stared at him. He’d known this would be difficult. He’d known they needed to talk, but this was too much. It was so much worse than he’d imagined. It didn’t - surely Ben had to feel the same way he did, he had to understand  _ why  _ Anakin had been so angry. He pushed at the broken bond again, and Ben flinched, saying, voice thick and gutted, “And stop doing that.”

“Why?” Anakin asked, hating the tone of his own voice, the bleeding edges of it, the demand.

Ben looked up at him, eyes hard and flat. He said, “Because if you don’t, I’m going to  _ let you see _ .”

“I want to see,” Anakin said, because then at least he’d know what was going on. Then he could make Ben see, too, make him understand. They’d never needed words, when they had the connection. This would all be better. He intentionally touched the damaged edges of their link, needing the touch, and Ben gasped, and--

And it  _ hurt _ . Force, but it was agony. Anakin stumbled back a step, curling over, pain flooding into his head, down his spine, into his chest, stretching his bones apart and ripping at his muscles. He panted, grabbing for something to hold onto and finding nothing, the lash of it dropping him to one knee.

It  _ hurt _ and it was going on inside of Ben. He heard his own words, winding through his mind, felt his emotions played back from the other side, each ounce of anger, each shred of rage, each choice meant to hurt and oh, he’d hurt, he’d done so much more damage than he’d thought possible.

Because he felt  _ Ben’s  _ emotions, too, the ones that had existed before the hurt, all warmth and affection and worry. Trust. Force, so much trust, when he’d put himself in Anakin’s hands without hesitation. Love. Ben loved - had loved - him. Those memories were overlaid, stained with flashes of Anakin’s thoughts, with the words  _ a thing a thing a thing _ \--

He gasped for breath, gripping at his chest, sure it was coming apart. Ben had - had been out in the galaxy for so short a time. He hadn’t had time to develop the calluses life gave you as you aged. He’d fought and bled and suffered, but his heart had been - had been brand new, and Anakin had --

The pain stopped, all at once. He blinked, listening to himself breathe, and looked up at Ben. He stood there, and there was something in his expression for the first time, open and aching, before he locked it away. He shook his head. “You should have left me to die.”

And he walked out of the room, his shoulders a hard line, his hands balled into fists at his sides. That was the last image Anakin saw of him. He was left all alone save for the cold ache in his chest.

#

Palpatine stood, overlooking his city, hands clasped behind his back, scowling. The  _ Fallen Star  _ had finally left orbit, according to his reports, but it had not gone soon enough. The clones of Kenobi were proving far more aggravating than he’d initially anticipated.

He’d been forced to _personally_ rush down to his private levels, after two of the meddlesome things somehow managed to track down his guest. He still didn’t know how they’d done it. It should have been impossible, what they’d done.

The fact that his guards had then failed to kill them only added to his irritation. He’d had containment procedures in place, but the other clones had arrived far too quickly to get anything cleaned up. He’d had to take direct steps, and he loathed touching the minds of the clones. It was so heavy-handed, but he couldn’t very well have them believing that there  _ was  _ some underground lair full of his guards.

Still, he’d arrived in time. They had no proof. No evidence, just the word of some defective things. Qui-Gon, who would no doubt have blindly believed anything the clone said, had died. Yoda was an old fool, who spent far too much time in the Temple, who believed in the Senate. He would handle any accusations… properly, which suited Palpatine just fine.

Perhaps the situation would even allow him to easily get his hands on the clones who had caused so much trouble. He could have them brought to him for questioning, perhaps. They had to face consequences for their actions, and soon. He couldn’t allow them to continue spreading tales about what they had seen. Someone might, possibly, hear the truth in their words. It seemed unlikely. Most on Coruscant were fools, but you never knew.

The one at the Temple would be easy enough to quiet. Palpatine already had a plan for him. As for the one currently under the care of the 212th…. Well. He was sure something could be arranged. Something quiet, on a battlefield, perhaps.

And all the news of the past few days had not been bad. Tarkin’s mission had been wildly successful. It was unfortunate  _ that  _ clone had survived, as well - they were surprisingly hardy things - but Palpatine was not an unfair man. He could acknowledge that the gains had outweighed the losses.

Besides, according to Tarkin’s report, the events had pushed Skywalker even closer to a complete breakdown. Tarkin had been offended by Skywalker’s threats, the promise of real violence in the boy’s expression, but only because he was a fool. Skywalker’s violence and rage were all part of his appeal, after all.

He carried so  _ much  _ anger within him. 

Palpatine had made a long pastime of finding out how to trigger it. With Qui-Gon gone, he had worried, briefly, about his options. There was the Padawan, of course. But, if Tarkin’s reports were even close to true, he had more options at his disposal than he’d thought.

He regretted, briefly, that he had never thought to place an agent in Skywalker’s sphere. Surely it wouldn’t have been difficult to encourage him to develop affection towards an appropriate target. It would have made everything so much easier. Skywalker obviously wasn’t discerning. He’d grown attached to some clone.

Perhaps it wouldn’t do to take care of the clone, yet. After all, victory was built on timing. Besides, what had the thing seen on the station, really? Tarkin said that the troopers had left it before they reached the inner section of the station, where they'd retrieved so much information. He had teams working to de-crypt it already, his anticipation about the results filling him with a warm glow. And the troopers who had failed to kill the thing already been disciplined, for not taking the time to make sure it was dead.

A single blaster bolt to the head had surely not been too much to ask, but he’d gotten used to incompetence. He sighed, turning from the window. Someday, soon, he would wipe away all the inefficiency and stupidity around him. 

His mouth quirked and he lifted his hood, before activating the comm channel he’d set up. “Ah,” he said, as the holo figure solidified on his desk. “Ms. Sing, I believe I have another job for you.”


	8. Chapter 8

Cody knew well enough that all the Generals were different. So it wasn’t a surprise when they went through a period of adjustment, after General Yoda took command of the  _ Fallen Star  _ and the 212th. He took a slower, more careful approach than General Jinn ever had on a large scale, and made changes on a smaller level, as well.

Once got sorted to the bunk he always should have had, for a start. Cody tried to tell himself it was a good thing; he’d always worried about how isolated Once was. The change only meant that they no longer had a private space to meet one another easily, nothing more.

That was the impression he was under, anyway, until he was interrupted in the middle of filing a report by Peel, who ducked into the doorway and snapped, “Commander, you better come quick.”

Peel looked worried, for the brief snatch of time that Cody saw him. He didn’t wait around, pulling out of the doorway as soon as he delivered his message. Cody pushed aside the pad he’d been working on and followed, asking, “What’s the problem?”

“You’ll see,” Peel said, grimly, leading him to one of the large bunk rooms. Peel pushed inside without hesitation, and Cody looked at the scene within. No one was in their bunks, as they should have been. Most of his brothers were on their feet. A knot had formed, towards one corner of the room, a loose circle with a few troopers holding two of their brothers apart.

Crys had a bloody nose and furious eyes. Longshot matched him, glare for glare. Cody drew his shoulders back. Fighting wasn’t unheard of, among them. They were under tremendous amounts of stress, sometimes it found ways to ground out through arguments, brief spurts of violence. He wasn’t  _ usually  _ called directly to the scene of a brawl, though.

“Someone want to tell me what’s going on?” he asked, approaching the circled troopers.

“I can’t believe you went and got the Commander, Peel,” Crys snapped, flashing his brother a scowl. “This isn’t his concern.”

“I asked you a question, trooper.” Cody raised an eyebrow when Crys scowled at him.

It was Longshot that answered. He wasn’t being held back actively. A pair of his brothers just had hands on him; it looked like a precaution. “I’m sorry, Commander,” he said. “I - Crys was running his mouth about the Lieutenant-Commander, sir, and I--”

“I wasn’t saying anything the rest of us aren't thinking,” Crys said, jerking against the hands holding him and then settling again, with a dark look.

Cody felt his shoulders stiffening. Once had told him the other troopers were cool to him. Thought it was his fault. But Once had a tendency to think  _ everything  _ was his fault. “And what would that be? What are the rest of you thinking?” he asked, working to keep his voice level.

Crys sniffed, grimacing. “Just that it looks like he’s not going to be this General’s pet. Down here with the rest of us now, like he belongs. He was getting ideas above his station, but--”

Longshot  _ did  _ jerk against his brothers, then. They snagged him back before he got more than a step or two. He cut a look at Cody. “That wasn’t all he said, Commander, he said...” Longshot grimaced, looked away. “That wasn’t all of it.”

“And what the kriff do you  _ care  _ what I said?” Crys demanded. His expression flattened out, suddenly. All the anger went away, even his tone grew flatter. “You should be just as concerned as I am. We can’t trust him, we--”

“You weren’t in the caves on Wambevino IV,” Longshot said, glaring across. “You don’t - we were dead men. Every single one of us: a dead man. And he brought us out of there. You’ll leave him alone or I’ll do more than break your nose.”

“He also gave you those headaches,” Crys said, still flat. “And he got General Jinn killed, or are we all forgetting that? The Type 2s shouldn’t be trusted, they aren’t like us.” He seemed unaware he was repeating himself, or maybe he just liked the way the words sounded.

Cody took a step forward. Things were worse than he’d thought, obviously. He’d needed to take steps to handle this earlier, but there had been so much work to do bringing General Yoda up to speed, handling the questions from the Senate, refusing all the requests that Once be left on Coruscant for questioning…. 

“General Jinn made his own choices. No one got him killed.” Crys scoffed, looking to the side. “I mean it, trooper. You’ll stow this line of bantha shit, and you’ll treat  _ all  _ your fellow troopers with the respect they deserve. The Lieutenant-Commander is family, too, treat him like it.”

“And what if we’d rather treat him like you do, sir?” Crys eyed him, an ugly twist to his mouth, and Cody pushed down the reflexive surge of anger. It wasn’t useful in the moment. It wasn’t  _ appropriate _ , but kriff, he understood why Longshot had taken the opportunity to punch Crys in the face. As it was, he took a step forward and had the brief pleasure of watching Crys try to shrink back against the troopers holding him.

He’d known that it was unlikely that they’d be able to keep their relationship quiet. The  _ Fallen Star _ was a closed environment. The walls might as well have had ears. He said, “I recommend you don’t try it.”

Crys opened his mouth, expression ugly, but the door behind them opened before he could speak. Cody glanced over his shoulder, watching all his brothers straighten immediately to attention. The small figure in the doorway glanced over all of him, eyes curious as he asked, “A problem, there is?”

“No problem, sir,” Cody said, jerking his chin at the group in the circle. “Just a brief misunderstanding that we’ve sorted out.” He frowned at Crys. “It’s all finished now.”

# 

Anakin kept waiting for Ben to request reassignment. It was within his rights. He didn’t. He just… pulled away completely. He might as well not have been on the  _ Resolute _ , save during the course of his duties. He performed those mechanically, without smiling, without any jokes, without  _ anything _ .

The Type 1s watched him with careful eyes, his first few days out of the infirmary. And then Anakin didn’t know how to describe what they did. They just always seemed to be around, when Ben was, at least three or four of them anytime Anakin ended up in the same room, always doing something important that meant they couldn’t leave.

So maybe it wasn’t much of a surprise when things with Ben never got better. Not the way Anakin wanted them to. Still, Ben did eventually stop flinching when he got close. He still studiously avoided looking Anakin directly in the face; he tended to stare over Anakin’s shoulder when giving reports, tone clipped and smooth.

Anakin expected long repetition to dull the hurt of it, but it never did. His bunk felt empty, without Ben there. He found one of Ben’s black undershirts, forgotten long ago, before he’d broken everything, and he kept it, feeling like a bastard for doing it.

Anakin knew he needed to talk to Ben. He needed to make things right, somehow. He needed to stop Ben from hurting, the way he’d hurt in the infirmary. Anakin’s anger had been an all-consuming thing, after Qui-Gon’s death; feeling the results of it, finding out  _ exactly  _ what he’d done, had left him with an itching need to somehow undo it all.

But that was impossible when it was impossible to get Ben alone. He even took to meditating in his bunk, instead of in the common areas. Sometimes Ahsoka joined him there. Anakin was left with just sense memories of hurt, confusion, and grief that followed him, making sure he never forgot.

He understood, terribly, horribly, why Ben had gone on Tarkin’s mission. Ben had shown him that, as well, the terrible aching emptiness of knowing the person you loved thought you were a thing. A poor copy of a dead man.

All Anakin wanted to do was go back, go back and take the place of his past self, and  _ keep his mouth shut _ . Or punch himself in the face, break some teeth, make himself see the damage he was about to cause. He hadn’t thought of anything but his own hurt, his own anger, at the time. Ben had awoken him to the agony of everyone around him.

It wasn’t just Ben, after all, that he’d hurt. He looked at Ahsoka and winced, because he’d never been what she needed, and she’d just… learned to deal with it. He drew her aside and stumbled through an apology for - oh, so many things, and she’d hugged him afterwards, fast and hard.

So, at least he’d managed to repair  _ something _ . It was just everything else that felt broken.

He fought, and didn’t touch Ben, and tried to train Ahsoka, when he wasn’t killing people, recovering from injuries, and sleeping. She mentioned Dathomir, sometimes, but they had so little time. Anakin didn’t know how to explain to the Council  _ why  _ they wanted to go, not without opening themselves up to the same memory manipulation that had afflicted them before.

He thought about telling Ben, over and over again. But Ben was - he’d done enough to Ben. It could have been a dead end. Better to wait until they knew something solid, and  _ then _ tell him. Ahsoka told him it seemed like he just didn’t  _ want  _ to go, one day, and he couldn’t argue with her, not effectively.

Everything tied to Ben  _ hurt _ . 

So Dathomir hung over his head, the weight of it pressing down on him.

He didn’t know what to do, how to make anything better, the one time he got Ben alone, though His tongue grew thick and his stomach felt like a ball of rock. “I - listen,” he said, quietly. “I know you’re hurting.” He felt it, sometimes, when Ben was asleep, that same agony still twisting through him. “I can - I could help you, with that.”

He’d done it before, so many times, leeched some of the agony right out of Ben’s bones. And he thought - it was something he could do, a way he could help. He didn’t know if Ben would ever forgive him, ever look him in the eyes again, but he could at least make sure Ben didn’t hurt so much. 

Ben looked at him warily. He kept a distance between them; Anakin didn’t try to move closer. He asked, flat, always flat these days, “What?”

“The pain. You’re hurt. I could take some away.” It sounded small and inconsequential spoken out loud, but Ben had always appreciated it, before. The nerve damage, on top of everything else that Anakin had left him carrying, had to be… Severe.

Ben's eyes shuttered. “No,” he said. “You can’t.”

Anakin wished he didn’t understand why Ben would punish  _ himself _ , but he knew. Ben had shown him, because Anakin had pushed the issue, had demanded to be shown. He knew, and the knowledge burned in his chest like acid. “I know how to take it away. I--please. Let me help you.”

Ben shifted, turning away from him. “It isn’t that kind of pain, General. You can’t just take it away. Is there anything else?”

Anakin stared at him, the circles under his eyes, the unhappy set of his mouth, seeing him slumped against the wall, hanging in the bacta tank, broken. He swallowed hard, not wanting to waste the rare opportunity to speak with him. “What can I do, then, Ben, to fix this? Just tell me. I’ll do it.”

Ben shook his head, just a little. “There’s nothing to be done,” he said, and Anakin knew he thought it was true, felt that much, as Ben turned and left. But Anakin had fought through hopeless situations so many times. He’d made his life finding victory when everyone else said nothing could be done. He just had to - to find some way to make it right. To undo the pain he’d caused. 

He’d surely faced harsher odds before, and come out on top. Taking away the damage he’d caused was worth the effort.

#

Yoda had not spent much time off of Coruscant for years upon years. He’d made brief forays out into the galaxy, but there had always been something at the Temple that required his attention. He had not traveled much since Dooku was his Padawan, and that often felt like something that had happened in someone else’s life.

Being out in the galaxy and serving as a General proved to be quite an adjustment. He had known, second-hand, how exhausting the work was. He’d felt it from all the Jedi who visited the Temple. They were stretched thin, slowly being pulled apart as the demands of the war tugged them in dozens of different directions.

He had sympathized with them, with all the Jedi who had once been children under his care.

But had taken the unceasing crush of one battle after another to make him realize it was worse than he’d known. The entire galaxy teetered upon a knife’s edge. On both sides, Yoda sensed unending darkness, with only the thin line of their path offering safety. But to stay on the path required cutting oneself, over and over and over again, with each step.

Yoda watched his troopers - and it was strange, to think of them in such terms, but he could not help but feel a sense of connection to them - fight and die. He watched the boy who looked like Nith, who looked like Obi-Wan, settle. Once had watched him constantly out of the corners of his eyes, at first.

In truth, Yoda had difficulty focusing on him. His thoughts slid away when he tried, drifting towards Coruscant. He waited, many days, for word that Nith had been killed somehow. The Force vibrated, cloaked in shadows, around Coruscant. Yoda wanted, often, to be there, but he was not sure he could have done anything to help, not for Nith and not for the young Type 2s currently ensconced at the Temple.

There was little time for worry, on the  _ Fallen Star _ , and too much to worry about, all at once. Yoda did not take part in most of the military engagements. He  _ could  _ fight, when necessary, but it drained him for days afterwards. It left him feeling all of the long years he’d spent living.

Once served in his stead, with Yoda visiting planets only to attempt diplomatic solutions to their problems, as they had tried on Mandalore. Their visit there had gone poorly, from the time the Duchess Satine looked at Once and dropped the glass she held, recoiling with a wash of grief and shock, to their eventual departure.

Technically, they had completed their mission successfully, driven off the Death’s Watch, but it did not  _ feel  _ like a victory in the Force. Nothing did.

Perhaps nothing could, while so much remained unresolved. Yoda’s thoughts were consumed with the chips in the minds of the Type 1s, with the control codes tied to the Senate, and with the red clad guards Nith and Once had seen, in the facility that held their brother. 

He did not doubt the truth of their story. He felt it in their minds. Neither could he guess what the Chancellor’s personal guard would want with a clone. There must be corruption through the Senate, but who was involved and what their end goals were remained a frustrating mystery.

He rubbed his face, feeling the weight of the Force pushing down on his shoulders. Mace had encouraged him to disband the 212th, to split the troopers up around the remaining Generals. But that had felt wrong, and so he had taken them himself, instead. He wondered, listening to Once detail a report from their latest battle over the comms, not for the first time in the months that he had led the 212th, if he had not made a mistake.

Each aspect of the report left him feeling hollow inside. They’d fought and won, but the victory meant so little. Yoda gripped his cane, bowing his head, only to snap it up at sudden shouting over the comm. He felt a wash of alarm from Once, all the way down on the planet, before the transmission cut off.

He looked at the trooper manning comms on the bridge, and demanded, “Happened, what did?”

“I’m not sure, sir.” The trooper frowned over the controls, hands moving quickly. “I’m trying to get them back.”

And Yoda could do nothing but wait, worrying at a flaw in the wood of his cane, feeling them all teetering, the blade of the knife slicing deeper with each movement.

#

Nith threw himself into research, after Once left. Records and old articles consumed his thoughts. He did as much work as he could from the Temple and, where the Jedi’s records failed, he spread out, looking for new sources.

He paid for the information he wanted, where he could. It wasn’t hard to get credits. Any number of bars offered games of chance or luck that were easy enough to manipulate with the Force. He supposed, technically, he was cheating.

But he didn’t need the credits for himself.

He took information without asking, when it wasn’t on offer for any price. That was easy, too. Scanning a mind to get thoughts below just  _ feelings  _ was difficult, the first few times he tried it, but he could draw the Force in close, he could make it work, with the help of his distant brothers.

He slipped through the Temple and Coruscant, driven by a single-minded focus that was not disturbed until he walked up the Temple steps one day and felt a sudden itch up his spine. He moved without thought, jerking sideways as the stone where he’d stood a moment ago shattered. 

He smelled blaster fire, twisting, lightsabers already in hand as more bolts rained down. The other Jedi on the steps responded quickly, one grabbing a youngling and sprinting for cover, the others pointing into the surrounding traffic, looking for the source of the shots.

Nith moved towards the Temple’s great doors, deflecting shots, until they abruptly stopped. He looked out across the traffic, the buildings rising all around the Temple, and knew they’d never find the shooter. He breathed, in and out, heart rate slowing, and figured this meant, if nothing else, that he was looking in the right places.

That was the first time someone tried to kill him.

The second came days later, when a cleaning droid accidentally activated an explosive device while working in his quarters, leaving the entire room a smoking ruin. Nith stared into the wreckage, shivering and grateful that, at least, he’d kept all his research elsewhere.

The third time - and by that point he’d decided he needed to reorient his research into finding out who wanted to kill him so badly - came during a trip to the Senate. Their archives were rumored to be as impressive as the Temple’s. He never made it down to see them.

Someone - his faceless attempted assassin - released a swarm of explosive droids into the halls of the Senate, before he could reach his destination. Nith crumpled the droids he could, knocking others out of the air, grimacing at each explosion. There were dozens of the damned things, swarming around him as screaming started up in the halls.

The droids didn’t  _ seem  _ to be targeting the Senators. Just him. That didn’t stop the Senators from shrieking and running, as he tried to deflect dozens of tiny killing machines all at once. He spun and wove, panting when a droid detonated close by and threw him against a wall. He stretched out a hand, shoving the swarm temporarily back, and a voice shouted, “Here, get in here, hurry!”

Nith didn’t hesitate. He sensed nothing but concern from the speaker, which was good enough. He shoved away from the wall, blocked another explosion, batted aside a droid, and fell into a lift.

There was a woman in there, a Senator, already. She was short, and could have been attempting to make up for her lack in height with the elaborate headdress she wore. She wore fine robes and, as he watched, she lifted aside her skirts, drew a blaster, and blew one of the droids out of the air.

He panted for breath, willing the doors to close faster, working to keep the droids  _ out _ . Two sped in, just as the doors closed. He swore, batting one away, up to the ceiling, where it detonated with enough force to shake the elevator. The other made right for him. He pushed it away, hearing it whine as the explosives spooled up, and shoved it  _ through  _ the wall of the elevator.

The explosion threw pieces of metal and stone out at them. He grabbed the Senator, pulling her close and turning his back to the explosion. In the aftermath, his ears rang and he coughed. Dust filled the air. There were alarms, going off somewhere. The lift was still descending, slowly, with a jerkiness that he didn’t like at all.

The Senator shifted in his hold, and he released her, straightening. “Senator,” he said, ignoring the pain across his back and shoulders. “Are you alright?”

She blinked up at him, her dark eyes very wide and full of… recognition. Familiarity. He’d gotten used enough to seeing that at the Temple. He could recognize it easily, now. “Yes,” she said, slowly, still looking over his face. “I’m - I’m fine. Are you alright? What’s going on?”

“Someone’s trying to kill me,” he said, with an apologetic smile. “Sorry to drag you into it, Senator.”

“Trying to - who?” she demanded, a little frown furrowing her brow.

He shook his head. “I’m not sure.” He nodded over at the lift controls. It seemed they were going to the docking levels. “Do you have a ship down here?”

“Yes, of course, that’s--”

“Can I borrow it?” He looked at the damage to the lift. There had been more of those droids, up in the higher levels. “I think the droids will follow me. You should be fine, once I’m gone.”

She frowned at him. “I’m going with you, of course,” she said, as though it were obvious that a Senator should provide assistance in the event of an attempted murder. 

He blinked at her. “It’ll be dangerous, Senator, you should--”

“Please,” she interrupted, as the lift stopped. She stepped out with a quick look around, her blaster up and at the ready. She looked back over her shoulder at him and smiled. “Call me Padmé. And I’m not worried about a little danger. Are you coming?”

#

Once felt exhausted. He knew he was far from alone.  _ Everyone  _ around him felt exhausted, as well. The weariness crept over into his mind from his brothers, distant though they were from him amongst the stars. They all needed days - week - of sleep, and they weren’t going to get any of the rest they needed.

He was thinking only about his bunk - he much preferred it to the private room he’d had before - as he delivered a mission report up to the  _ Fallen Star _ . They still had some mopping up to do, a few Separatists had dug in, but it was a job they’d done so many times before.

He glanced across at Cody as he spoke. Blaster char stained most of the chest piece of Cody’s armor, from a droid that had gotten way too close. There’d be bruising beneath, Once knew, damage from where the armor pressed into his skin.

If they managed to snag a few moments, he would be able to unlatch that armor, set it aside, and run gentle fingers over the bruises, coaxing the flesh to heal with the Force. And after it was healing, Once could duck his head, brush a kiss to Cody’s shoulder, his collarbone, lower….

Cody shifted across from him, reddening around the ears, and Once realized he was projecting more than a little. He cleared his throat, refocusing on the information he was supposed to be relaying up to General Yoda. He pushed his thoughts out beyond Cody, to avoid another distraction, checking on the other troopers gathered around.

They felt tired. Relieved to be alive. Heartbroken for brothers they’d lost. All the emotions that Once had gotten so used to feeling from them. Some were angry, angry at the battle, at the war, a few at  _ him _ . He supposed he made an easy target. He was different and some, like Crys, putting off the most anger, had never liked him anyway.

He shook his head, a bit, moving his mind onward, only to jerk as the anger in Crys’s mind suddenly snapped out. He went completely blank in a heartbeat, so quickly Once thought he’d died. And there was a flare, sudden, of Dark energy all around them. Once straightened, turning, and because of that the blaster bolt only grazed the side of his temple, instead of hitting him square in the back of his head.

The second shot would have hit his forehead, if Cody hadn’t lunged at him, tackling him down, while Cyrs said, voice curiously clear and loud in the madness of the room, “This is all his fault! I told you all the Type 2s couldn’t be trusted! We can’t trust them!”

Panic and alarm rang out. Troopers yelled, deafeningly loud. The blaster discharged again, twice more, and Cody pushed Once down against the floor, spread over him, his armored arm curled up and around Once’s head.

Once pushed at him, and Cody pushed back, with his emotions as much as anything else, needing Once to be still, to be safe. The strength of feeling stunned Once for a moment, long enough for one more shot to ring out, and for a fresh wave of horror to batter at him.

“Kriffing hell,” someone said, into the sudden quiet of the room. Cody shifted up, finally, and Once pushed away from the ground. The troopers were all gathered in a bunch around Crys. He was struggling on the floor, held down by three of his brothers. His eyes were all pupil, his color bad as he panted shallowly, muttering something to himself, something about his orders.

Once stared at him, tasting vomit in his mouth, shaking all under his skin. “Sithspit,” Cody hissed, then, grabbing his chin, pulling his head around, expression open and stricken. The pain in the side of his head was a distant thing, but Once knew how head wounds could bleed. Cody tore at his robes, bringing fabric up to the wound.

“It’s not bad,” Once said, dizzily.

“It’s bad enough,” Cody snapped, looking from his head wound out across the gathered troopers, at Crys, still twisting around in the middle of the floor, in the care of his brothers. “What the kriff just happened?”

Once shook his head, wincing at the throbbing pain the movement set off through his skull. “I don’t know,” he said, thinking about the way Crys had disappeared, right before he took the shot, and feeling something cold as ice run down his spine.

#

Anakin monitored the frayed edges of his connection with Ben, almost compulsively. It was the easiest way to tell if Ben still hurt. The damage there didn’t seem to be healing as the weeks passed. It didn’t close over or scar. It just remained, an open wound inside his mind, a reminder of what he’d done and his inability to  _ fix  _ it, to take away the pain he’d caused.

It ate away at him day after day, battle after battle, mission after kriffing mission. He tried to give it time, to give Ben space, but it didn’t feel like the right thing to do. He’d never been patient. He’d never been able to wait for something to happen. His entire life he’d been  _ making  _ things right, one way or another.

Now he could just watch, getting nothing back but cool distance each time they had to speak to one another. It lasted until they ended up back to back on some shithole planet, the two of them cut off from a rendezvous they’d planned with Quinlan Vos, the Council’s choice to help them track down some filthy Hutt. He and Ben still fought together well, if not as well as they once had.

They just didn’t do it well enough, not when swarmed and ambushed by pirates. Ben went down first, a concussive shot throwing him sideways, wiping out his conscious presence in the Force. Anakin swore, grabbing for him; Ben didn’t want to be touched, not by Anakin, but leaving him drop was unthinkable.

The contact dumped pain into Anakin, directly into his skull, so all-encompassing that Anakin choked, vision blurring. He stumbled, trying to shove it all away, but he’d already missed a step, hearing blaster fire all around, and the impact of something hot and agonizing in his back felt like a foregone conclusion.

He went down to blackness, still holding onto Ben.

#

Nith had never been in a Senator’s apartments before. Padmé showed him in, speaking briefly with her golden protocol droid as he looked around the space. It was… beautiful. All warm colors and soft fabrics, with windows open to the sweeping Coruscanti skyline. He turned as he felt Padmé approaching. He said, “They could have followed us here.”

She cast him a look. “They may have,” she said. “I’ve already informed my private guards.” She sounded so crisp, so matter of fact. Nith watched her, waiting for the comment about either his brother or Obi-Wan, whoever she had known before, whoever left her feeling so familiar with him. It didn’t come.

Instead, she gestured at him and said, “I’ve got a droid bringing in some bacta. I know you’re hurt.”

He blinked at her, the reminder drawing his attention to his shoulders and back. He shifted and a half-dozen injuries pulled at his flesh. “It’s alright,” he said. “I can go back to the Temple, we can--”

“Let me help you,” she said, turning as a droid entered, delivering the promised supplies. She gestured at one of her couches, soft and wide and plush. “And while I do, maybe you can tell me more about why someone is trying to kill you?”

He needed information from the Senate. Apparently, someone very much didn’t want him to get it, but she could go there. And, besides, the idea of addressing the wounds on his back and shoulders appealed. He nodded, shrugging out of his tunic and, after a second’s hesitation where he realized there was no good place to put it, balling it up and setting it on the ground.

He felt her little indraw of breath, as much as heard it. He hesitated for a moment, fingers curled around the edge of his black undershirt. She felt - projecting her emotions through the Force - interested and embarrassed, all at the same time. He had no idea how to deal with that, and turned his face away, peeling the blacks off, balling them up as well.

“Right,” she said, not quite meeting his gaze, her cheeks stained a dark red, “so. This assassination attempt. Not the first?”

“No.” He watched her approach. He turned, just a bit, so she could see his back. Her upset flared between them, briefly. “No, they’ve tried twice before.”

Her fingers were small and warm, sliding across his shoulder. “That’s -- I’m afraid this is going to hurt you.”

His mouth quirked up. “It’s alright, Senator.”

“Padmé, please,” she said, chiding. He gritted his teeth as she worked one of the pieces of shrapnel free. He heard it fall, a moment later, onto the tray the droid had brought. “And -- I’m sorry. I didn’t ask your name.”

He’d wondered, vaguely, how long it would take her to remember. He wondered what name she was thinking of already. “My brothers call me Nith.”

“Nith,” she said, like she was testing the sound of it. Something about the way she formed it sent a shiver down his spine. He closed his eyes, focusing on the pain when she pulled out another piece of the lift. “Nith, why has someone tried to kill you three times?”

He shook his head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” She was making good progress, at least. Most of the wounds felt clean. Soon there’d be bacta, and the relief of pain. But even with her kindness, he couldn’t imagine that she’d take a story about the Chancellor’s guards torturing one of his brothers to death with any degree of belief.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. He heard her wring out a rag. “Why wouldn’t I?” He felt nothing but honest curiosity from her, and a sort of surprise that he’d think she wouldn’t believe him. He spared a brief moment of gratitude towards whichever of his brothers she’d met, whoever had made such an impression on her.

“Well, no one else has.” He kept still, feeling her slim fingers on his back. “And I don’t have any evidence.” He stared at the far wall. Her apartments really were beautiful. The air smelled sweet and clean. And, he considered, he needed help from  _ someone _ . It might as well be her. What did he have to lose, really? People already wanted him dead. He took a breath. “Just my word that the Chancellor is trying to kill me.”

She went still at his back. He heard her suck in a breath and hold it. When she spoke, her voice was hushed, “What?” She moved, coming to stand in front of him, her eyes wide and shocked. 

He flashed her a small smile. “I told you that you wouldn’t believe me.”

She shook her head, sitting on the couch across from him. She looked worried, more worried than he would have expected. “Why would the Chancellor try to kill you?”

Nith shrugged. “It’s a very long story,” he warned. “And an unhappy one.”

“We have time,” she said, and sat there, listening, while he explained the pain in his bones, and finding Elik, and the guards in red, about all of it. She listened to him, her eyes growing wider and something inside of her growing colder with each word, until he shook his head and finished the story.

“Well,” she said, when he finished. The sun had sunk outside, leaving the city bathed with thousands of smaller lights. “It sounds like you need my help.” 

He took a breath, inhaling deeply for the first time in what felt like an age. He didn’t sense any deception from her. She felt like determination and, below that, faintly of fear. “You believe me?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. “Really? Why?”

Padmé blinked at him, and her cheeks stained with color, just for a moment. She looked to the side, and he wondered  _ exactly  _ what she’d felt for his brother. What she still felt. The emotions were shrouded, she was working to hide them. She wetted her lips and said, “I - I trust you. And there’s… more. There have been other - other things. That have made me suspicious about the Chancellor.” She glanced back, her dark eyes shining. “And I’m not the only one.”

The thought that there might be others on this planet who would believe him, who might be able to help, hit hard. He sagged and hissed when the movement pulled the wounds on his back. “Oh,” she said, standing abruptly. “I didn’t finish. I’ll - let me see to this. And I’ll have my protocol droid bring some dinner, and, then, if you don’t mind, I’ll tell  _ you  _ a long story that I think you’ll find very interesting.”

# 

Ben came to slowly, feeling groggy. His eyes were crusted shut. He managed to open them, anyway, working to corral his wandering thoughts as he became more and more aware of his body. He was… cold. Very cold. There was a familiar pain down his right side: a blaster injury. His head throbbed. His shoulders and arms ached. He tilted his head to the side, looking along the line of one arm, and found a glowing shackle around his wrist. That explained the ache.

The collar he felt around his neck probably explained the fuzziness of his thoughts. He got nothing back when he reached for the Force, nothing at all. The loss made his heart speed up.

Further along, past the edges of his fingers, there was a familiar shape. He knew the mop of Anakin’s hair, currently tangled. Anakin appeared to be similarly shackled, slumping sideways, not yet conscious. His legs were sprawled out. His breathing was shallow. But he was alive.

Ben closed his eyes and rested his head against the stone at his back, trying to recall what had happened. They’d been in a fight, he remembered that. It hadn’t been Separatists, or at least not droids. Something had gone wrong….

His thoughts were a jumbled mess. He shifted, trying to ease some of the discomfort in his body, and froze when a door opened. He slumped again, closing his eyes, willing his breath to go slow and even as he focused on his hearting.

He heard footsteps. Maybe four sets. Heavy. “We know you’re awake,” a man said, voice low and rough. “Saw you moving on the monitor, no use playing dead now.”

Ben swallowed and shifted, lifting his head to get a look at their visitors. They were a mix of different peoples, all of them hulking and covered in weaponry. He recognized emblems of the Black Sun on their armor. “Good morning,” he said, ignoring the crack in his voice. “I suppose I have you to thank for our fine accommodations?”

Anakin stirred at the sound of voices. He came awake quickly, with a jerk at his restraints and a thick, angry sound. Ben flinched, just a little. Anakin’s anger brought back a sour electric thrum through his body, an instinctual desire to be out of it’s path. But Anakin wasn’t the threat at the moment. That would be the large Twi’lek man at the front of their group of captors, who stepped forward, and smashed the butt of a plasma rifle against the side of Ben’s head.

He bit his tongue against the cry in his throat, head snapping the side, pain blossoming in bright colors through his skull. “What the kriff are you doing?” Anakin snapped.

“He’ll speak when spoken to,” the Twi’lek said. Ben spat blood down to the ground and sucked in a breath. “He’ll do some speaking, now.” Ben glanced up as two other figures moved into the room, towards him. One held a long rod with a glowing loop on the end. “We’ve got lots of questions.”

One of the guards bent, wrapping a meaty fist around Ben’s throat, pushing him back against the stone. The loop, he noticed, was just about the right size to fit over his head. He heard Anakin grunt, felt him jerk.

“And you’re going to ask him?” Anakin spat, as Ben thrashed against the guard holding him to the wall. He sounded sharp, scornful. “Wow, no wonder the Hutts are running circles around you.”

The Twi’lek waved a hand, sharply. The guard pinning Ben removed some of his weight. “The Hutts are garbage,” the Twi’lek said, but it sounded like a question.

Anakin snorted. “Sure, and I’m sure they’d  _ also  _ be wasting time questioning a clone who doesn’t know anything, when they’ve got a Jedi General hanging beside him. This is how you run your operation, really?”

Ben tried to look at him, wondering what the kriff he thought he was doing, these idiots were going to-- 

To release Ben, all at once. The Twi’lek moved, scowling down at Anakin. “He has lightsabers, too,” he said, eyes sharp. “We all saw him fighting.”

“He’s a clone,” Anakin said. “Do you not follow the news at all? Maybe it doesn’t get through to this rock. Or maybe you just can’t read, I wouldn’t be--” Anakin groaned, words strangling off when the Twi’lek kicked him in the side.

“Bring this one,” the Twi’lek said. “He needs to learn his place. And I recognize his ugly face.”

“Wait,” Ben bit out, watching Anakin thrash, fighting as they lowered the cord over his head, jerking it tight around his neck. He had a duty, and he knew it, to make sure no one hurt Anakin, to keep him safe, his whole purpose was-- “Stop! He’s--”

The Twi’lek hit him again, almost absently, as they dragged Anakin, kicking and thrashing, from the room. By the time Ben blinked his vision clear, he was alone in the faded light, staring at a closed door. He panted for breath, yanking at the shackles around his wrists, and finding they had no give in them at all.

He didn’t know why Anakin would behave like such a kriffing idiot. They’d been  _ ignoring  _ him. Ben was no closer to finding an answer when Anakin was dragged back in, hours later, no longer fighting. He hung limp between two guards, who chained him to the wall without comment and left him with a parting blow to the ribs.

“General,” Ben called, twisting, but he couldn’t reach Anakin. They were too far apart. He could only look at him, slumped against the wall, covered with marks that hadn’t been there when they’d taken him. He was breathing, shallowly. His eyes were open, but not focusing. He didn’t look over when Ben repeated, “General, are you alright?” Ben swore to himself, heart racing painfully behind his ribs.

He -- he hurt, still, inside. He’d made his peace with the fact that would never go away. But it wasn’t the  _ only  _ emotion inside him that he was doomed to live with, forever. Seeing Anakin bleeding, abused, hurt him, too. He’d come to understand, over the past few months, that he was always going to love Anakin.

It was a curse, hung around his neck.

He swallowed, twisting until his wrists protested, until his shoulders caught fire, and choked out, “Anakin, please, talk to me.”

Anakin blinked, gaze shifting over to him. It took his eyes a moment to focus. “Ben,” he rasped, and coughed on the end. Blood flecked his lips. Some strain when out of him, some strange tension, as he looked Ben over. “Good. They left you alone.”

“They left--” He wanted to shake Anakin, suddenly. “You, what were you thinking, they could have killed you--”

“But they didn’t hurt you,” Anakin said, labored, like that was what mattered.

“Didn’t--” He swallowed, trying to find the words he was looking for. “This is what I’m  _ for _ , I’m just a--”

“No, it isn’t.” Anakin looked at him, something desperate in his eyes, dark and sharp. “And I’m so sorry, Ben, that I ever made you think it was. I’m so kriffing sorry.” His voice cracked, and Ben held his breath, staring at him.

He hadn’t believed Anakin was sorry, at first. And then he hadn’t been sure it mattered. He still  _ wasn’t _ sure it mattered, even as Anakin crooked a smile at him and slumped against the wall. “Anakin!” his exclamation went unnoticed. Anakin didn’t stir. He just lay there, too far away to touch, being an idiot, and Ben couldn’t even feel  _ why _ . He couldn’t pick up anything from Anakin, from anyone, cut off from the Force, chained to a wall in a cave, shaking and unable to stop.

He wasn’t feeling any better, when their captors came back, when Anakin opened his mouth and infuriated them, when they dragged Anakin away again. Anakin looked at him as he was pulled out of the door, something dark in his eyes, and Ben didn’t know what it  _ meant _ , but he yelled himself hoarse, pulling at the shackles, until they brought Anakin back.

#

There was no sense of victory, when they returned to the  _ Fallen Star _ . Once had to make a new report, about what Crys had done and he had to visit the medics about his head wound. Cody found him, after all the reports were done, after everything was settled, after he escorted Crys to the brig. Cyrs had insisted the entire time that Once could hear him that he didn’t know what was happening, that he  _ hadn’t  _ shot Once, that he didn’t know what any of them were talking about.

Once went willingly when Cody led him down the hall, into a quiet room they’d found some weeks ago. He tilted his face up at Cody’s touch, closing his eyes as Cody brushed soft fingers across the bandage on the side of his head and said, “What the kriff happened back there, Once?”

Once shook his head, slumping forward to rest his forehead on Cody’s shoulder. “I don’t know. It wasn’t - I know he didn’t like me.” Crys had never made any effort to hide that fact. He’d broadcast his feelings at every opportunity. “But it didn’t… He wasn’t angry when he did it, Cody. He wasn’t anything. He was just… blank.” He shivered. “And Dark. I felt so much darkness from him.”

Cody stiffened. “Like the chip?”

Once swallowed. “Like the chip,” he said, quietly. They’d wondered what it was for, what all those command codes could do. He thought they’d probably gotten a little preview.

Cody caught his shoulders, pushing him back a little. His expression was still and flat, and Once braced automatically for whatever bad news he was about to be delivered. Cody took a deep breath and said, quietly, “If it was the chip, if it made him try to kill you, I want you to promise me, if I turn on you like that—”

“Cody!” Once felt the shape of what Cody was going to say, felt it coming, read it in the set of his jaw and the glint in his eyes. The protest fell fruitlessly off of his mouth. Cody plowed forward, right over him, his expression set into some terrible thing.

“I want you to promise that you’ll stop me. That you won’t hesitate. That you won’t let me hurt you.”

Once stared at him, helplessly, trying to find the words to protest. The intensity on Cody’s face made the entire situation worse. He said, “I can’t promise you that.” Cody looked down, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “You don’t--I would never trade my life for yours. You have to know--

Cody jerked forward, kissing him hard, stealing away the words. When Cody spoke again, it was directly against his mouth. “You wouldn’t be sparing me. If I hurt you…” His mouth worked for a moment, soundlessly, and something in his eyes went to steel. “If this thing makes me hurt you, the next blaster bolt will be going in my head.” He trailed off, looking miserable

Once flinched, jerking against Cody’s grip. “Don’t say that.”

Cody shook his head. “It’s the truth. So promise me. Promise me.” He shifted his grip to his blaster, the starkness in his eyes a terrible thing to behold. “Or I’ll make sure I can’t hurt you right now, I won’t risk--”

“Stop it!” Once pulled away, horror beating at his mind, tightening around his chest as he put together the implications of Cody’s words. “Don’t, you can’t, I can’t lose you, too. I can’t.” He bumped into the wall and gripped onto it, gulping at the air. This was all too much. He didn’t know if he could not deal with it because of what he was, or if it would not have mattered if he were not a clone. 

His heart felt like it was breaking in two. 

“Hey, hey.” Cody put a hand on his shoulder, sliding to his back, rubbing. “Breathe, breathe, I’m sorry.”

“I couldn’t hurt you, either,” Once panted, looking up though his eyes stung and burned terribly. “Do you think I’d be able to live with that? With you…” He gestured wildly. “Killing yourself? To protect me? I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.”

Cody grimaced. “Once--”

“So we’ll just have to find another way,” Once interrupted. “We’re going to figure out how to disarm the chips. Permanently. For all of you.”

For a moment, he thought Cody would argue with him again, but Cody nodded, instead, pulling him around and into an embrace. “Alright,” he said, his cool armor a comforting press against Once’s cheek. “Alright, we’ll figure it out.”

#

Anakin’s world got small. Tiny. He couldn’t feel anything with the Force. The severing hurt. His visits with their captors hurt more. They were… inventive. And tireless. But Anakin knew how to handle pain. He’d learned how to do that before he could walk.

So he took what they dished out, and he gave them just enough that they kept dragging him back, leaving Ben alone. It wasn’t hard to convince them that Ben didn’t know anything. Ben  _ didn’t  _ know anything, not more than Anakin did, so even when they pumped him full of the chemicals that made everything blurry and took away his ability to lie, he could keep repeating the fact that Ben was useless to them.

He really thought it was working, until the Twi'lek came back to the cell one day. He usually just sent guards. This time, the whole mess of them crowded into the cell, looking across at Anakin and Ben. “Special occasion?” Anakin rasped. Talking hurt.

“We grow tired of your dissembling,” the Twi’lek said. “So we’ve decided to try a different approach.”

“Leave him alone,” Ben said. He’d taken to saying that, every time. He looked terrible, his eyes so wide and horrified every time they dragged Anakin off. Anakin had tried to reassure him that they weren’t going to hurt him, but something about the message kept getting confused. “You’re wasting your time, he won’t--”

“Tell us anything?” The Twi’lek sighed. “No, we’ve figured that out on our own, clone. Not if we continue on with our current strategy. I’ve decided on a new course. One I think will work better.” He waved a hand, and the guards moved forward, but not towards Anakin.

A thrum of alarm ran down his back as they grabbed Ben. “What are you doing?” he demanded, ignoring the pain in his jaw and cheek. He jerked the shackles around his wrists taut. “He doesn’t know anything, he--”

“We believe you,” the Twi’lek said, nodding to the guards. They didn’t drag Ben from the room. Instead, they hauled him in front of Anakin, pulling his arms out to the sides. The Twi’lek grabbed Ben’s hair, pulling his head up, so Anakin had to look into his face, his eyes wide, his skin covered with dirt and filth. Anakin’s breath caught in his throat, frozen. “But  _ you  _ know things, don’t you, Skywalker? Things you haven’t been telling us.”

“Maybe I do,” Anakin rasped. He jerked his eyes away from Ben’s gaze, scowling up at the Twi’lek as his heart stuttered. “So what are you doing with him?”

“Making you talk.” And the Twi’lek produced a virbo-knife. He started cutting the seam at Ben’s shoulder. Ben froze. Anakin could hear him breathing, loud, through his nose. 

Anakin tried to laugh. The sound didn’t come out right. “Please,” he said, trying to make his tongue work, “you think I care what you do to him?” He tried to force out more words, to make this believable, but they wouldn’t come. He couldn’t make himself claim that Ben meant nothing to him. He’d never tell that lie again.

“Oh, yes,” the Twi’lek said, ripping out the other shoulder. Ben’s robes slid down. The Twi’lek bent, slicing his black undershirt from top to bottom, pulling off the remains of the fabric. “I think you do, very much. I’m not as stupid as you seem to think I am. Now. Where should we start? Perhaps his pretty eyes?”

Anakin couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. He thrashed, straining against the shackles, reaching  _ desperately _ for the Force. “Maybe,” the Twi’lek said, dragging his nails down Ben’s throat, over the curve of his shoulder, leaving behind red trails. “We’ll start at the outside and work our way in. It’ll last longer, that way.” He smiled at Anakin, all teeth. “How many fingers do you think he needs to hold a lightsaber?”

Panic flashed over into anger inside Anakin’s skull, the way it always had. He’d never known another way to handle fear. He snarled, “Stop it!” He knew his body hurt, but he no longer felt it, struggling with all he had, clawing at the barrier keeping him from the Force, throwing all his will at it and knowing it had to be useless.

“You can make this stop,” the Twi’lek said, leaning down, mouth brushing Ben’s ear. His hand came back up, curled around Ben’s throat. “You know, it might be a shame not to enjoy ourselves a little, before we start cutting pieces off.” He glanced up. “What do you think, boys? He’s a pretty thing, isn’t he?” He looked up, directly at Anakin. “I bet we can make him sing for you.” 

Ben had shut his eyes, was bracing, not crying, not begging, not expecting Anakin to be  _ willing  _ to save him and--

“Stop,” Anakin croaked, feeling sick, desperate. “What do you want to know?”

Ben’s eyes snapped open. He stared across at Anakin, nothing but shock on his features. The Twi’lek laughed, smiling widely, stroking his thumb along the edge of Ben’s jaw. “Now we’re getting somewhere,” he said. “Why don’t we start with--”

And that was when the door at the back of the room blew open. Anakin flinched against the explosion. He heard the hum of a lightsaber and felt sick relief crawling up out of his gut. Ahsoka, he thought, it had to be Ahsoka, come to find them.

But it wasn’t, the figure stepping through the door was far too tall to be Ahsoka. He recognized the figure, anyway. Quinlan Vos had been supposed to meet them, before everything about this mission went completely wrong, and now he was charging into their cell, lightsaber humming as he cut through their guards, taking out one of the figures holding Ben in place.

Ben surged to his feet, swinging the loose chain around his wrist. He snapped it so hard that it wrapped around the Twi’lek’s neck. Anakin watched Ben’s expression go blank as he pulled it tight. Vos moved forward like a storm cloud, saber blade painting waves of color through the air, ending with the guards in a pile on the floor.

“Vos,” Anakin said, after it was over, as Vos moved towards him and sliced through the shackles holding him to the wall. “About time you got here.”

Vos snorted, looking down at him. He bent and grabbed at Anakin, pulling an arm over his shoulder. “The trouble you get into,” he said, shaking his head, turning Anakin as Ben pushed to his feet, leaving the Twi’lek on the ground, eyes bulging out, expression lax. He was breathing hard, chains hanging from each arm, eyes wide and wild.

He tossed a small metallic device on the ground, the controller from the Twi’lek’s belt, and stepped on it. Anakin felt the Force come back, all at once, and took a gulping breath. The initial wave of emotions felt suffocating, difficult to move through. He shook his head, trying to sort it and giving up.

Anakin hadn’t even considered the fact that Vos had probably known Obi-Wan until he felt the ripple of shock and hurt through the Force. “Oh, Force,” Vos said, faintly, something in his emotions shifting whiplash fast. “You’re--”

“I’m not,” Ben cut in,  _ his  _ emotions pushing at Anakin, shock and hurt and confusion, all at once. He flashed a smile that was a shadow of his former grins. “Just a copy, my apologies.” He held out his arms, “Can you get these off of me? And then, maybe, can we get out of here?”

#

Ahsoka felt like the world was going madder than it usually did. Everything in the war felt like it was going wrong, including the disappearance of Anakin and Ben on what should have eben a fairly routine mission. They’d looked everywhere, in the past days, and found  _ nothing _ , not until Vos contacted the ship with word that he had located the missing pair and that they were both alive.

Relief made Ahsoka dizzy. She’d come half to believe that they’d only find Anakin and Ben after they were dead, too late to do anything to help.

After all, they couldn’t catch a break, she knew that. Everything that could go wrong did, with startling frequency. They had too much to do, not enough time to do it. Anakin was always saying so, when she asked him about Dathomir, but  _ that  _ felt important to her.

Knowing that someone had  _ erased  _ her memory, and Anakin’s, and that he didn’t seem to care, ate away at her endlessly.

She knew it had something to do with Ben, the way Anakin changed the subject every time Dathomir came up. Things weren’t right with them, hadn’t been since Master Qui-Gon had died. The way things were wrong made her wonder if they’d ever been  _ right _ .

She caught Anakin watching Ben, tracking him out of the corner of his eyes, sometimes openly staring. Anakin didn’t watch any of the other troopers that way. He didn’t watch  _ anyone _ that way, with such careful intensity. He didn’t reach out for anyone and then curl his fingers back, either, leaving the touch incomplete.

And Ben  _ hurt _ . He hurt badly enough that Ahsoka felt the edges of it, sometimes, when they meditated together. The ache was all tied up with Anakin, she could pick up that much, something he had done, something he had said. 

Whatever it was, it made Anakin put her off, everytime she brought up Dathomir. She needed to feel like  _ someone  _ else cared about the problem. That was what led her to opening a comm to Barriss, though Anakin had told her over and over again they shouldn’t discuss the situation over open comm channels.

Who was going to be listening to her, anyway?

Barriss answered her with a small, tired smile, that dissolved when Ahsoka brought her up to speed with the current wall she was running into. “What?” Ahsoka asked, a bad feeling starting in her gut as Barriss frowned at her over the holo feed.

“I’m sorry,” Barriss said, shaking her head, “I’m just not sure what you’re talking about? What do you mean, what does Dathomir have to do with Lorn and his brothers?”

Ahsoka stared at her, feeling cored out inside. She asked, hoarse, “Who did you tell?” But she knew she’d get no satisfying answer to that question, even as she asked it. She had been foolish to expect that Barriss wouldn’t tell anyone. After all, Ahsoka hadn’t been able to keep the news to herself, she’d spilled the information to the first person who seemed trustworthy and--

And she looked at Barriss, thinking about the way Barriss watched Lorn, thinking about Anakin and Ben, and breathed, “Oh, kriff.”

“Ahsoka?” Barriss asked, shifting around. “Are you alright?”

“I’ll be alright,” she said, shaking her head. “Just - just forget what I said.” She curled her fingers up into her palms, nails biting against skin. “Or tell Lorn about it.” She had a terrible, sick feeling that he’d help her forget. 

“Ahsoka?”

“I need to go,” Ahsoka said, disconnecting the comm. She felt sick to her stomach. She had no proof, not  _ really _ . Just a feeling in the Force that said she wasn’t wrong. She pulled her legs up and hugged them, feeling alone, blinking her stinging eyes until the burning in them stopped.

She was still sitting there, thinking, when someone knocked on her door. She didn’t feel Ben, and relaxed a little. Rex frowned at her, when she opened the door, and said, “You missed dinner. Everything alright?”

She looked at him, his familiar face, the shape of his worried frown, his sharp eyes, and she said, “No, not really.”

He tensed immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“I think you better come in,” she said, shutting the door when he stepped forward. “I’ve told you this before,” she added, curling her arms around her chest. “But you’re not going to remember it.”

He raised an eyebrow, and his expression grew no less incredulous as she laid out everything that she knew and all the bits she suspected. When she was done, half-breathless with it, he was just staring at her. He said, finally, “Kriff, Ahsoka, that’s….”

“I know,” she said, pacing across the small amount of floor space in her room. “I know it sounds crazy, but.” She waved a hand.

“It doesn’t sound crazy,” he said, shaking his head. “It sounds like you’ve found something big. We need to go to Dathomir.”

The relief of it hit her in the gut. Hearing him say it almost made her light-headed. She smiled, a bit helplessly. “That’s what - I know. But Anakin…” She shifted her weight from foot to foot. “I can’t keep waiting for him, can I?”

That got her a deep frown. “Well, you can’t run off on your own.”

“Oh, come on,” she said, with a cheer that she had to force. “I can just - just go and take a quick look. Someone has to go, Rex.”

“Not you,” he said, shaking his head. “This is the General’s job.”

“Well, he doesn’t want to do it.” She bent, retrieving a bag. She had no idea, all of a sudden, what she’d need to bring. “So that makes it  _ my  _ job.”

“Ahsoka.” He grabbed her wrist, not squeezing, and she looked up at him. “You can’t--”

“I  _ can _ ,” she said, tilting her chin up. “I’m not a kid anymore. I figured the rest of this out, Rex. I did it. Not Anakin. He’s been…” She waved a hand. “So, I’m going to go, and I’m going to find out what’s going on. And you can tell him where I’ve gone, after you give me a head start.”

He stared across at her, frown graven down deep. He still had his hand curled around her wrist. “This is a bad idea,” he said, after a moment.

Ahsoka tilted her chin up, holding his gaze. “Well, it’s the only idea I’ve got.”

He blew out a breath, swearing softly. “Fine.” He shook his head, dragging a hand back over his close-cropped hair. “Fine, give me a click, and we’ll go.”

A knot that had formed in her stomach unclenched, all at once. She’d been prepared to go on her own. It needed doing, and if she’d learned nothing else, it was that she had a responsibility to do the hard thing, even when it terrified her. But knowing she wouldn’t be going alone lifted a weight off of her shoulders.

Still. She said, “We’re probably going to get in trouble.”

“Not if you’re right, we’re not,” he said, squeezed her arm, and stepped back. “Come on.”

#

Ben couldn’t slow his breath down, all the way out of the little bunker where they’d been held, out into the open air. The reconnection to the Force had left him shaken, but it was nothing compared to trying to process what Anakin had done.

He wanted to demand answers. He wanted to ask Anakin what he had been thinking, but Vos was right there beside them, leading them forward, so he bit the questions back. Vos was projecting, as well, the edges of his thoughts pressing close. 

Ben walked a step ahead of Vos and Anakin, holding both sabers in his hands, stretching his senses out so he didn’t have to think about the pair at his back. Anakin’s pain buffeted him still, and his relief. Ben had no idea what to make of it. He shook his head, trying to clear it. He asked, “Any word on Ziro?”

“Oh, he’s dead,” Vos said. He didn’t feel particularly sad about it. “But at least you two aren’t. We’re almost to the evac point.”

Ben nodded. Turned out there was a drop ship, waiting on the other side of the hill they crossed. It felt good to climb inside, to sink down onto a seat, feeling the troopers stare at the three of them, alarmed and surprised.

“Take us to the  _ Resolute _ ,” Anakin rasped, as Vos lowered him into a chair. And Ben still couldn’t ask him what the kriff he’d been thinking. He couldn’t ask him after Anakin was swept into the infirmary. He monitored Anakin’s presence, pacing with agitation until he couldn’t bear it, and went to the meditation chambers.

He sank into himself, relaxing, drifting in the Force, until a presence disturbed him.

He opened his eyes, turning his head slightly as he felt Vos step into the room. The man felt… confused and hurt. There was a sense of familiarity to his thoughts. Someone who had known Obi-Wan, then. Ben blew out a breath, rising to his feet.

“Don’t let me disturb you,” Vos said, circling around him. 

Ben quirked a smile at him. “Don’t worry, I was finished,” he said. He didn’t want to be around Vos. The man felt too much for him for someone he’d just meant. He was watching Ben closely, head tilted to the side.

“Well, then, maybe I can offer you a drink?” Vos was just  _ watching  _ him, taking him in like he was seeing a ghost or a dream. 

Ben kept his smile. He could feel Anakin, his thoughts clearing up as the pain faded out of him. He didn’t feel like he was in bacta. Ben shook his head, just a bit. He needed to track Anakin down, demand answers. “Not today,” he said. “I think I’m going to go get some rest.”

“Would you like some company?” Vos asked, shifting, almost into Ben’s path to the door. He was taller than Ben, not as tall as Anakin.

“I’m afraid not,” Ben said. “Not that I’m not flattered.” There seemed to be no good way to say: but I’d rather not spend the evening with someone thinking about a dead man ever again. He settled for, “I don’t fraternize with Jedi.”

“I’m not exactly a Jedi, these days,” Vos said, voice lower, and Ben felt his interest, his hunger through the Force. He was projecting. And so was Anakin, suddenly closer, moving through the halls outside. His emotions were all hot, twisting things.

“You feel like a Jedi,” Ben answered, glancing towards the door. 

“Oh,” Vos said, a rumble, “do I?” He slid a hand across Ben’s side, leaning closer, all at once, and he was not an unattractive man, far from it. For a moment, Ben thought  _ maybe _ , as he leaned down, giving him a kiss full of all kinds of promises. But it just  _ hurt.  _

Ben turned his face to the side, shutting his eyes. “You do,” he said. “And it’s not me you want to be kissing, is it? I’m just the next best thing. I need to go.” 

Vos curled fingers around his arm, grabbing him. “Ben, wait--”

“He said he wants to go,” Anakin sounded flat. Ben knew he was standing in the doorway, knew it without looking, knew he’d be frowning, anger moving across his expression. “That means  _ take your hands off of him _ .”

Vos took his hands off Ben. He felt Anakin glance at him, and expected… he didn’t know. Rage in Anakin’s voice, perhaps, or in his emotions. He just sounded worried when he asked, “You alright?”

Ben’s thoughts were crowded, riotous. He was thinking about Anakin in that cell, staring at him, expression anguished “I’m fine, General.” He took a step forward, and then another, towards Anakin. “But I needed to speak with you.”

He felt the jump of Anakin’s emotions, a shift to hope, quickly pushed down. “Of course,” Anakin said, and Ben felt Anakin’s hand, hovering near his back, just for a second. Anakin didn’t complete the touch, just followed Ben out of the room. He muttered something as a goodbye, but Ben barely heard it. 

His thoughts were buzzing, he felt confused, more than anything, not paying attention as they moved through the halls, which was, probably, how they ended up at Anakin’s quarters. He heard Anakin suck in a little breath, but they’d come this far. Ben waved a hand at the door sensor and stepped through. 

Anakin’s quarters were… a mess. It didn’t look like he’d made his bunk for weeks. There were clothes everywhere. One of his black shirts was on the bed. Ben looked around as Anakin stepped in, kicking things out of the way. “You wanted to talk,” Anakin said, not quite looking at him.

“Yes.” Ben shook himself. Last time he’d been in here, things had been so much simpler. He’d been curled against Anakin in the bunk, feeling Anakin’s fingers running through his hair. Feeling  _ safe _ . He swallowed, flexing his fingers out. “General--”

“You called me Anakin again in that hole,” Anakin interrupted, quietly. He didn’t sound angry. More tired. Lost. “You can still - if you want - that’s - ” He gestured out to the side, a helpless movement of his hand that had no meaning, as far as Ben could see.

And Anakin had - had thrown himself into the fire in that hole, to keep it from burning Ben. What he’d said, what he’d done, it hurt so badly, but there was something beyond it. There always had been. “Anakin,” he said, quietly, watching Anakin jerk a little as he did. “You - you wouldn’t have told him anything. Not really?”

Anakin stared at him. Ben could get little from him through the Force, it was all a jumble. “No,” Anakin said, a muscle in his cheek jumping. “I would have.”

Ben felt a shiver climb his spine. “But--”

“I know it’s - it’s not what I should say. I know.” Anakin looked to the side, hair falling into his face. His hands clenched to fists at his side. “But I would have told him whatever he wanted to know, Ben. You and Ahsoka. You’re all I really care about in the whole kriffing galaxy.” He worked his jaw side to side. “And I’m so sorry for hurting you.”

Ben wanted something to grab onto, but there wasn’t anything available. He could  _ feel  _ Anakin’s regret, but he’d been able to feel that before. The problem was that he knew, just as well, that Anakin had meant everything he said, that awful day on the  _ Fallen Star _ .

“I’m a clone,” he said, carefully, watching Anakin flinch. “A poor copy--”

“No.” Anakin looked like he would be ill. He took a step forward and stopped, almost jerking in place. “No, Force, no, Ben. I’m just a kriffing bastard.”

“I felt it,” Ben picked each word with deliberation. “What you were feeling, I know you think--”

“I thought stupid things, I did.” Anakin shifted his weight, foot to foot. “And I wish I could take it back. All of it. You have to know that, too.”

And Ben did. It bled out of Anakin, each time they were in a room together, all through the cold nights, on the field of battle, hanging in a cell beside one another, waiting for the worst to happen. He knew it. But knowing it didn’t change the pain inside him and it didn’t undo the echoing words in his skull, the knowledge Anakin had planted there.

It hurt.  _ He  _ hurt. But he’d felt nothing but horror watching those guards drag Anakin off. And he’d felt nothing like the heat he felt with Anakin when Vos pulled him close. And he was standing there, in Anakin’s quarters, tangled in knots and wanting Anakin to hold him, make things alright again, somehow. 

He whispered, “Anakin,” and Anakin had to be picking up his emotions, too, because his head came up, he took a step forward. Ben stretched out a hand - fingers trembling - and touched his arm. He looked up, and Anakin brushed fingers against his jaw, eyes wide and dark. “I--”

The chime of a comm made him jerk a step back. Anakin snarled, even as he activated his comm, even as he was informed by the officer on the bridge that Ahsoka and Rex were missing, along with a shuttle. “She left a message, sir,” the trooper continued. “Time locked. It says they’re going to Dathomir, sir.”

#

Slipping away from the  _ Resolute  _ felt like the wrong thing to do and the right thing to do and the only thing to do, all at once. Ahsoka couldn’t stop to think about what she was doing, or she knew she’d give up, stop, and go right back to waiting for Anakin. She marched up the ramp to the little ship they were taking while holding her breath.

Rex was already inside, in the pilot’s seat, going through a pre-flight check. She sat down beside him, staring straight forward, and strapped in. “You ready to do this?” he asked, as the doors shut behind her.

“Yes,” she said, her stomach nothing but a tangled ache, her heart racing along in her chest. Maybe they wouldn’t even find anything, she thought, as they slipped away, into the dark, using her codes to get through.

No one even commed them to ask where they were going. She figured they probably had a few hours, before she got far enough away that Anakin noticed she was gone. She swallowed, looking out at the stars floating in the unending dark, and said, “Thank you, for coming with me.”

“Couldn’t let you go alone,” Rex said, adjusting their flight path. “Besides, someone’s been messing with  _ my  _ head, too. I want to know who it was. And why.”

She nodded. They had a long trip ahead of them, but neither spoke much. There was too much tension, too much anticipation, for that. She felt like there were answers, at the end of this flight. One way or another, she was going to find out what was going on with Ben, with his brothers, with  _ everything _ .

She didn’t know what to plan for, what to expect. She imagined a world full of scowling inhabitants. She imagined a planet like Kamino, perhaps. She wondered if she’d have to fight to get answers.

In the end, their arrival didn’t bring any of the things she expected. “Coming out of hyperspace,” Rex said, stirring her from all her imaginings. He was frowning, looking over scans from the planet’s surface. It was an ugly red ball, Ahsoka noted, scowling through the viewscreen. “Not much here,” Rex added. “It’s mostly swamp and mountains. No sign of a major port. A few population centers… You find anything in your research to tell us where, exactly, we should start?”

Ahsoka frowned down at the red planet. Somewhere down there, someone had to know  _ something  _ about the Type 2s. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “Just - just take us in, slowly. I’ll try to pick something up.”

Rex glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes and nodded. They dipped closer to the planet. She was painfully aware that Anakin had probably already noticed she was missing. She had a feeling he’d be following her, this time. 

She shut her eyes, putting those thoughts aside and opening herself up to the Force. It had felt  _ right  _ to come here. She centered herself, opening her senses as they dipped through the atmosphere, moving over the surface of the planet, losing track of time until  _ something  _ snagged her attention, so hard she jerked in her harness, eyes snapping open as she gasped.

“Kid?” She knew Rex was staring at her; she felt his attention, but it was distant, blocked out by the far stranger feeling echoing up to her from the surface, from an encampment not terribly far from their current location. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” she said, frowning. “It’s just. Well. Ben’s down there.” She felt him, so clearly. She knew what he felt like, they’d meditated together so often, he’d taught her an entirely new saber technique. She  _ knew him _ .

“What?” 

“I mean…” Ahsoka shook her head, looking over at Rex, who was watching her, disbelieving. “It’s probably not actually Ben. It’s - all his brothers feel the same way.” Lorn had felt  _ just  _ like him, as had the one Master Qui-Gon called Obi-Wan. “One of them is done there.”

“Well,” Rex said, shaking his head, turning his attention back to the controls. “I suppose wherever he is would be a good place to start.”

They put their shuttle down without trouble. Dathomir didn’t  _ seem  _ very advanced to Ahsoka. She couldn’t figure out how, exactly, anyone here had contributed to cloning Obi-Wan. But she supposed that was what they’d come to figure out. She checked her lightsabers - she’d taken to carrying two - and nodded at Rex, as he checked his blaster.

The air outside the shuttle tasted unpleasant, thick and humid. Moisture clung to her skin almost immediately, and she frowned. Something about the planet felt spoiled. Oily. She swallowed, glancing back to make sure Rex was following her, and he gestured forward.

Dathomir was full of strange sounds and red light. Things moved around them. They’d landed in a small open space, surrounded by thick vegetation. The entire place thrummed with the Force, alive and rich, but it wasn’t a warm, welcoming sensation. It felt oppressive, curled close to her skin and breathed down into her lungs.

And she kept getting the sneaking sensation they were being watched. She glanced around again, scanning the surrounding bush with the Force and getting back… so many sensations it was hard to distinguish between them. She shivered, a bad feeling in her gut, keeping track of the Type 2, the only clear thing she felt on all of Dathomir.

They crept through the trees and vines, moving quietly. Ahsoka did her best to ignore the feeling they were being stalked and the way her lekku curled up at the ends, a bodily response to her unease. She drew to a stop at the sound of voices, pressing against a tree. Rex slid into place across from her, blaster in hand, leaning around a trunk to get a look.

Ahsoka peered through a veil of leaves and branches, breath held in her chest. There were figures, moving among the trees. They seemed to be tending some sort of fruits, with large, bulbous pods. They were thin and spare, humanoids. Female, apparently. They wore red fabrics in a style Ahsoka didn’t recognize.

Ahsoka looked them over, started to raise a hand to let Rex know they would be moving on, and froze, her breath catching. Among them, moving with the confidence of a child, was a - a young girl. A girl with copper hair and a severe expression, clad in red. A girl with grey tattoos over parts of her face already. A girl that felt just like Ben, through the Force.

The shock of it lanced through Ahsoka, and she tried to push it down, but the girl was already slowing, hesitating, turning to look in her direction. She said something, to the other figures, and Ahsoka jerked a hand at Rex, turning, because all at once she had a  _ very  _ bad feeling about all of this, and--

And there were more of those red clad figures in their path, when Ahsoka turned. There were six of them, each holding a bow with a glowing string and a glowing arrow. “Well, well,” one of them said, her face hidden by the red hood she wore, “It looks like we have visitors.”

“Hi,” Ahsoka said, managing a weak smile, “we’re, uh, we’re just lost?”

The woman snorted and jerked her head. “Take them to Mother Talzin,” she said, and Ahsoka opened her mouth, before shutting it when another figure moved up behind her, a spear leveled on her. The figures she’d seen had moved forward, closing with them.

Her gaze found the girl, who was staring at them both with wide, bright eyes.

“What’s going on here?” Ahsoka asked, but received no answer. The women - they were  _ all  _ women - turned and started moving. A spear tip prodded Ahsoka in the back. She took a stumbling step forward, glancing over at Rex, and hoped that Anakin had noticed her missing, that he was on his way, that she hadn’t made a tremendous mistake.

She had a sinking feeling that maybe she had. She shuddered, glancing at the girl. She was following them, watching them with a curious tilt of her head. “Hey,” Ahsoka said, quietly, glancing at their guards. They didn’t seem ready to strike her for speaking. She swallowed. “Hey, I’m Ahsoka. What’s your name?”

She tilted her head; Ahsoka felt the touch of her mind, prodding and curious. She took a step closer, and Ahsoka wasn’t sure, honestly, if she were going to answer or bite. The girl did neither, instead, she jerked bodily and looked upward. Ahsoka felt it a moment later, a rippling through the strange veil of the Force that shrouded this planet.

“What--” she started, and stopped, listening to the thunder of ships breaking atmosphere. Anakin had reached her earlier than she thought, but she’d found this child, she had something to show him, he’d understand --

And that was when she started hearing the weapons fire. Her eyes snapped to Rex, even as he swore. “Separatists?” he snapped. “What the kriff are Separatists doing here?”

“Move!” The leader of their guards barked, reaching back and grabbing the girl, pushing her ahead. “Move now! Get to Mother Talzin, we--”

She was there one moment and simply gone the next, nothing but a crater to show where she’d been. Ahsoka stumbled back, her ears ringing, dizzy from the concussive force of the impact. She tripped and would have fallen had Rex not grabbed her, holding her bodily upright. He said something, but she couldn’t hear anything.

She looked down, dizzily, and found blood soaking through her clothes. The pain registered slowly. Shrapnel, she thought. From the explosion. Pieces of rocks and trees, stuck into her. She raised a hand to a piece at her hip, slowly, and Rex batted her hand away. She felt the vibration of him yelling something, but the words were senseless.

The world shifted around again, violently. She blinked, dizzy, trying to clear her head as the world started moving without her. She could see the side of Rex’s head. She turned and watched the trees passing, and realized, as her thoughts started to clear, that he’d gotten tired of yelling at her and just picked her up.

They were running through the trees, chasing the figures in red. The girl led them all, her hair catching the red light, and Ahsoka watched her, wondering what, exactly, she’d gotten them into as the attack continued overhead.


	9. Chapter 9

Ahsoka had  _ gone to Dathomir _ . The trooper’s words froze Anakin into place. He’d known Ahsoka was impatient about their delays. He’d known she’d grown almost obsessive about figuring out the mystery of the Type 2s creation. But he’d never have imagined that she’d run off without him, into Force knew what.

And she couldn’t have picked a worse time to do it. He and Ben were  _ talking _ . He’d managed to, somehow, get Ben into his quarters. He’d felt Ben’s confusion, hurt, and hope. He’d felt Ben’s desire to be touched, held. And if it had cost him a few days of pain, well. He considered all of them worth it.

But there was no time for that, not with Ahsoka run off to  _ Dathomir _ . He swore, stepping back from Ben with a wave of regret, and Ben asked, “Dathomir? Why would she go to Dathomir?”

Anakin waved the door open, on his way out into the hall, thinking about exactly why Ahsoka was on her way to Dathomir. He hadn’t wanted to worry Ben about it, before.. “There’s… It’s a long story. I’ll tell you on the way.” He stopped when he didn’t feel Ben following him. Ben was just standing in the doorway of his quarters, staring at him with a strange expression on his face. “Are you coming?”

“I don’t think we should go to Dathomir,” Ben said, his eyes curiously blank.

Anakin frowned at him. “Well, we are. Force knows what Ahsoka’s going to get into. Now, let’s go.”

“I….” Ben blinked rapidly, a few times, and then he shook his head. “Right, yes. Of course.” He reached up and rubbed at his head, finally moving forward, though his movements were strangely jerky. 

“Are you alright?” Anakin reached out to him, wondering if he were on the cusp of another drop in neurotransmitters. He’d already ordered the helm to take them to Dathomir. They didn’t need him on the bridge right away. He could escort Ben to the medbay first. 

He dared a brief touch to Ben’s arm. He thought - hoped - that was allowed again. Ben felt oddly calm. His emotions were barely stirring, beyond a sense of confusion and, down deep, an undercurrent of fear. Anakin squeezed a little. “Ben?”

Ben looked up at him and blinked again. “Yes,” he said, and cleared his throat. “I’m fine. Just a headache.” He smiled, and the odd dampening over his emotions faded. Anakin nodded, setting aside his worry. He had enough to fret about. “You were going to tell me  _ why  _ Ahsoka went to Dathomir?”

Anakin nodded. The explanation came out as they walked to the bridge. Rushing wouldn’t help anything. He couldn’t make the engines go faster by running, but the urge still crawled up his spine. Ben listened quietly to the talk of what Ahsoka had found, to their altered memories, to all of it, and shook his head as they stepped onto the bridge. 

He said, “That sounds...very serious.” There was a slight hesitation to each word. He was frowning, reaching up to rub at the side of his head.

“We thought so,” Anakin said, taking his place on the bridge, looking at their path. Ahsoka wasn’t  _ that  _ far ahead of them, and she’d taken a little scout ship. The  _ Resolute  _ could outmatch the smaller craft’s speed. They’d catch up with her, maybe even before she reached Dathomir. He glanced sideways. Ben’s breathing had gone erratic. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine,” Ben said, mouth crooking a bit. “Just worried about Ahsoka. She really… shouldn’t have gone off without us.”

Anakin felt his jaw tighten. “No, she shouldn’t have.” But he had an itching feeling he’d driven her to it. She’d learned something of his impatience, or she’d always been just as impatient as he was, he couldn’t decide which was true. He looked back at the screen, the distance between them, and spared a regretful thought to conversations left unfinished.

He shook those thoughts aside, glancing up at the troopers in the room with them. “Alright, I need all the information we have about Dathomir in front of me, right now.”

It didn’t take them very long to find the information. There wasn’t very much  _ to  _ find. It appeared to be an awful world where few people visited and fewer left again afterwards. Some Jedi had made planetfall over the years; almost all of them had left quickly, complaining of a sour feeling to the Force.

Qui-Gon had identified Maul as a native of the world, so perhaps the Sith liked it better than the Jedi. That thought was less than comforting, considering that Ahsoka had thrown herself into the breach without any support.

Well, she’d wanted to find out what was going on there, what Dathomir had to do with the Type 2s. She was going to get what she wanted. Anakin ignored the messages he got from the Council and the Senate demanding to know what he was doing, taking the  _ Resolute  _ so far off course. He even ignored a series of calls from the Chancellor.

Somewhere in the long hours of their journey, he even managed to pass out. He thought about asking Ben back to his quarters, but his eyes were burning. He hadn’t allowed the healers to throw in him a bacta tank after their time in the care of the Black Sun, and all his injuries were making him regret it.

He didn’t think he’d be able to stay awake long enough to apologize again.

#

Ahsoka had been on plenty of planets under attack by the Separatists. It was never fun. They seemed intent on blowing the hell out of Dathomir, she noted, her thoughts finally coming back into some kind of order as they fled off into the woods.

If she’d been thinking after the initial firing run, she would have told Rex they needed to go back to their shuttle. She was no longer sure where they’d left the ship. Kriff, she was no longer sure where  _ they  _ were, bounding through the thick vegetation, following their one-time captors.

No one seemed concerned with pointing weapons at them at the moment. Most of the women were winging shots at the flying craft making passes overhead. She twisted - she was feeling better and they’d move faster if she was on her feet - and Rex tightened his grip, snapping, “Stay still.”

“Rex,” she protested, and cut off when, ahead of them, the red-haired girl just disappeared. She was there one moment and gone the next. The ground ahead of her was empty. The other women sprinted forward after her, disappearing one after the other. Rex didn’t even hesitate, charging after them.

There was a brief tingle against Ahsoka’s skin, electric sharp, quickly fading away. Ahead of them there was suddenly  _ not  _ empty space. Instead, there was a huge stone structure, brutalist in design, stark and frankly ugly. It radiated the same sickening aspect of the Force as everything else on this miserable rock, amplifying it, somehow.

The girl was standing in a dark doorway into the structure, watching the sky. Ahsoka followed her gaze. There was a shimmer in the air, like oil moving over the surface of water. Beyond it, she could see attack craft and droid drop ships. The women they’d followed through the forest were slowing as they approached the structure.

One turned towards Rex and Ahsoka, twirling a staff weapon of some kind, expression twisting into a snarl. “Wait!” Ahsoka cried, pushing at Rex’s hold again. He set her down, finally. She held up her hands, ignoring the injuries left behind by the shrapnel. “Wait! That’s the Separatists up there, attacking you! They’re our enemies, too! Please, can we just talk to you, or to - to Mother Talzin, that’s who you wanted to take us to, right?”

The woman sneered at her, twisting her grip around on the staff weapon. “We no longer have time to question you,” she said, spinning the weapon around.

And the girl said, “No.” She was watching them, blue eyes clear and familiar, achingly so. Ahsoka saw her gaze almost every day, in an older face. “Don’t be foolish, Ilyana.”

The woman - Ilyana - turned to frown at the girl. “You are not in charge, Katya,” she said, and the girl met her gaze, cocking her head to the side. She made a little sound, in the back of her throat and her presence got larger in the Force, all at once. Ahsoka had felt Ben do the same thing, once or twice, before he did something insane or impossible.

Ilyana looked to the side, first. “Fine,” she said, “we’ll let Mother Talzin decide. Now get inside, before they find a way past our shielding.” She waved at the door. Ahsoka glanced at it, unsure, now that they’d gotten permission, if she  _ wanted  _ to go in or not. But the explosions sounded like they were getting closer. Better under cover than beneath the open sky. 

Ahsoka glanced over her shoulder at Rex, who nodded back, and stepped forward. “Thank you for your kindness,” she said, when they drew level with the girl. “I--”

“Why do you feel like you recognize me?” Katya asked, turned to lead the way down a long, dark tunnel. “And why does it upset you so much?”

“That’s - it doesn’t, I just--”

Katya made a little tsking sound, glancing up at Ahsoka sharply. “If you’re going to lie,” she said, leading them down a different passage. “You should do a better job of it.” Her posture changed, then. She drew herself up straight, shoulders back, head high, and turned another corner. 

They entered a chamber with a high ceiling, though it was hard to see the walls or the roof. There were… things, hanging everywhere. None of them were pleasant to look at. They were all shaking faintly, vibrating in the air. There were braziers sitting here and there, but they didn’t burn with fire. Instead, a strange glow came from them, greenish. It left an aftertaste in the air that made Ahsoka’s throat itch.

There was a woman, standing in the room, tall and with an elaborate headdress sweeping even higher. Her skin was heavily tattooed, her face lined with age, her eyes large and dark. “Mother,” Katya said, bowing as she entered the room and then straightening again, “We are under attack by many droids and ships. And I have brought you guests.”

The woman looked over Ahsoka and Rex. Ahsoka  _ felt  _ her touch through the Force, cool and probing. She must be Talzin. Her mouth crooked in one corner, some kind of dark amusement passing through her mind. “So you have,” she said, turning and folding her hands in front of her stomach. “I knew some of you would come, eventually.”

Ahsoka shifted. She was glad, all over again, that Rex had volunteered to come with her. She swallowed, listening to the faint echo of blaster fire, suddenly louder - they must be breaching the shield - and wishing Anakin would show up already. He’d always excelled at storming in to the rescue. She just wished he was in the habit of arriving before the last possible moment. “Some of who, exactly?” she asked.

Talzin’s smile stretched a little wider. Her teeth were yellowed, old. She said, as the structure shook under Separatist fire, “The Jedi, of course.”

A chill settled in the back of Ahsoka’s throat. Her gaze shifted to Katya; she found Katya already watching her, staring with an unnerving, unblinking intensity. “And why would the Jedi come here.” She swallowed. “Exactly?”

Talzin made a sound, amused. She stretched out an arm, and Katya moved without looking, going to stand beside her. Talzin curled an arm around her shoulders. “Why,” Talzin said, pulling Katya a little closer, “to find out exactly how all Katya’s brothers ended up running around the galaxy.” Katya did not look shaken or surprised by the mention of her brothers. “Unfortunately, I am not inclined to give you the answers you’re looking for.”

Of course she wasn’t. Nothing in Ahsoka’s life could ever be easy. “That’s--”

“You are here alone?” Talzin asked, and Ahsoka felt the brush of her mind, pushing, trying to compel the truth from Ahsoka’s throat. She’d had training in protecting her thoughts from the will of other Force users. She took a step back, shaking her head, feeling a headache from the blunt force brought to bear by Talzin, who sighed, her power slipping away. She repeated, “You are here alone?”

Beside Ahsoka, Rex stumbled and went to one knee. He made a sound in the back of his throat, choking. Talzin hissed, “Answer me.”

“Yes,” Rex gasped the word, falling forward, catching himself on one hand. “There’s just us.”

“Stop it!” Ahsoka put herself between them, for all the good it was likely to do, resting a hand on Rex’s shoulder. She could feel him shaking. “You’re hurting him!”

“Only because he fights me,” Talzin said, calm and smooth. “Do others know you are here?”

Rex made a wet sound, clicking, in his throat. Ahsoka’s hands found her lightsabers. “Stay your hand, child,” Talzin said, tilting her chin, and Ahsoka became terribly aware of the other women in the room, surrounding them. “Do others know you are here?”

“Stop,” Ahsoka repeated, turning her gaze to Katya, who was just… watching them, head tilted to one side, blue eyes sharp and curious. “Please, this isn’t--”

Rex choked, curling over onto his elbows. “Yes - yes, others know.”

Talzin took a step forward, expression going colder. She stretched out a hand. “Who?”

“General Skywalker,” Ahsoka said, because Rex’s breathing had gone tight and thready. She could  _ feel  _ the pain radiating out of him. He was here because of her. He was her responsibility, she couldn’t just… stand there and let him be tortured. It couldn’t always be him looking out for her. What did it  _ matter _ if this woman knew, anyway. “My Master. And he’s going to come after us.”

Ilyana stepped forward then, up to Talzin, leaning close to speak hurriedly against her ear. Talzin’s expression grew harder, colder, as Ahsoka watched. She nodded, after a moment, and Ilyana stepped back, hurrying from the chamber.

“This General Skywalker,” Talzin said, looking at Ahsoka, calculation written all over her expression. “Will he come for you alone?”

“No,” Ahsoka said, aware that Rex was trying to stand behind her, working to find his way to his feet. She lifted her chin, with no idea if she were telling the truth or not. Anakin  _ might  _ have just jumped in his fighter. “No, he’s going to be coming with a battle cruiser and an entire battalion, so if you don’t want--”

“We will require his assistance,” Talzin interrupted. 

Ahsoka snapped her mouth shut. Rex regained his feet, and asked, his voice shredded, “Oh, yeah? In exchange for what?”

Talzin smiled. It wasn’t an expression that left Ahsoka feeling warm and fuzzy. “Can you not guess?” she asked. “Assist me, and I will give you the answers you’re looking for.”

#

Anakin had thought they were too late, after finding an entire Separatist  _ fleet _ above Dathomir. He had  _ one  _ battle cruiser, one battalion of men. As much as he disliked worrying about the odds, even he had known their chances of winning the fight, much less finding Ahsoka, were slim.

But whoever was in charge of the fight didn’t seem to know what they were doing. They wasted opportunities, left their flanks wide open. Separatist battle planning had been haphazard at best since Grievous fell. Whoever they’d picked to lead  _ this  _ soiree was the worst of the lot by far.

He ended up in his fighter, R2 warbling disparaging remarks about the Separatists as they cut through the air. He was pretty sure his wing was going to bring down one of the big Separatists ships on their own, which, he hoped, meant their distraction was working.

They just needed to cause enough problems up above to distract the Separatists planetside, give the ground troops room to breathe and to find Ahsoka. Anakin felt her still. She was alive, deeply worried about something. She felt hurt, but no more so than he felt from her on other battlefields.

He kept a thread of his attention on her, through the battle, and a thread on Ben, back in the medbay. His condition had gotten worse, through their trip to Dathomir, until Anakin had ordered him to report to the medics.  _ He  _ felt confused. Frightened. Anakin shook his head, refocusing on the battle, on taking out another craft, leaving behind nothing by spinning pieces of metal, speeding outwards into space.

By rights, he decided, the Separatists  _ should  _ have retreated. They were, frankly, getting their asses handed to them by a far inferior force. But they made no signs of pulling back, stemming their losses. It was like the battle commander had written the entire fleet off. 

Anakin wondered, not for the first time, what,  _ exactly _ , was down on Dathomir, and why it had made the Separatists so upset. He continued the brutal work of decimating their fleet, taking at least some satisfaction in knowing that wiping these droids out over Dathomir meant he wouldn’t have to face them later, under a leader with some clue what they were doing.

#

Waiting for Anakin and the  _ Resolute  _ to show up turned into a nightmare. The Separatists fleet didn’t seem inclined to hang back until they got backup. Instead, they’d flooded droids down onto Dathomir, wave upon wave upon wave of them.

They stood no chance of handling the entire onrushing force of the fleet above. The droids had reached the stone building, finding it through the obscuring spells woven around it.

The Nightsisters - Talzin had at least given their group a name, at Ahsoka’s prompting - held their own for a while, as the droids flooded into the stone halls. Ahsoka and Rex fought alongside them; they had little choice in the matter. Sometimes, the enemy of your enemy was your friend. 

But holding their own, driving the droids back, had been impossible. They were currently retreating through stone halls, making the droids buy each foot with dozens of machines, the fight turned into a series of last stands as they shut the way behind them, leaving the droids to blast through stone barriers..

Ahsoka was beginning to think that she should have significantly shortened her time-delayed message to Anakin, batting aside more blaster bolts. She was fighting shoulder to shoulder with Ilyana. Rex stood on her other side, winging shots at the droids. They’d lost many of the Sisters already; only Ilyana and Talzin still moved with them, with Katya staying close to Talzin.

Ahsoka wasn’t sure how they weren’t completely overrun. Talzin had said something about their ancestors offering their assistance and there were strange noises from outside the structure, strange and horrible. Ahsoka couldn’t spare much thought to considering  _ that _ , not when Ilyana fell with a gurgled scream, and the droids surged forward.

Ahsoka panted out a curse, shoving them back even as Rex grabbed her and hauled her down another hall. She almost tripped down the steps that appeared before her feet, using the Force to steady herself. A door shut behind them, as they tripped down, stone sliding smoothly into place, and for a moment she could just lean over, catch her knees, and breathe.

Her brief reprieve couldn’t last. She felt a wash of shock and horror, felt it from Ben-not-Ben, and turned, jerked upright. She’d gotten used to responding to Ben’s emotions on the battlefield. His sister felt just like him, where she currently sat at the bottom of their stone staircase, clutching at Talzin, who lay in her arms, blood soaking through her robes.

“Sithspit,” Rex snapped, as they fled down the stairs to her. She was alive, Ahsoka still felt her through the Force and could hear her breath gurgling in her lungs. She dropped down beside the pair, reaching for Talzin’s robes, crying out in surprise when Talzin caught her wrist in one hand.

“My daughter,” Talzin said, her eyes wide, her fingers cold around Ahsoka’s wrist. “You will take her off of this world. You will keep her safe. If I… tell you what you want to know?”

Ahsoka’s gaze shifted to Katya - she could feel the girl’s distress - and then up to Rex. He jerked his head in a nod, gesturing. They would have taken Katya with them anyway, Ahsoka knew, if they could. And they needed the information. “Of course,” she said.

“Very well,” Talzin gasped, releasing Ahsoka and reaching towards Rex. “Help me - up. We must - must keep moving.” Rex lifted her with a little grunt, Katya clinging onto Talzin’s red robes the entire time. “Now, girl. Ask - your questions.”

Ahsoka swallowed. It had felt like she might never get the answers to her questions. The sudden realization that she would almost tied her tongue into a knot. She pushed past it. “A ship from here,” she said, “it went to Kamino. What was on it?”

Talzin gave a little sigh. “I’m dying,” she said, “and you waste your time to get answers you already know.” 

“Genetic material,” Ahsoka said, listening to the droids tear through the door separating them. They’d be coming, quickly. “It was - Obi-Wan Kenobi’s genetic material. But how did you get it? How did it end up  _ here _ ? He was - they burned his body. On Naboo. I don’t understand.”

“I was told they burned his body,” Talzin said. “By the man who came to me. He brought me records, scans of the boy’s genetic material.” She made a soft sound, scoffing; it turned into a cough. “Useless. What use does magick have of computer records? Fortunately, he also brought me his memories. Clothing. Hair. Things of the body.”

Questions clamored for prominence in Ahsoka’s mind. She felt an awful chill down her spine. “And what did you do with these… these things?”

“I built from them,” Talzin said. “It was not difficult. Perhaps the Jedi no longer remember how to generate growth of organic material, but we have not forgotten the deep magicks. My ritual produced the required components.”

Ahsoka’s stomach churned; she was grateful she hadn’t eaten much. “You grew - you grew another Obi-Wan? Here?”

Talzin laughed. It was a terrible, wet, cracking sound. “No,” she said. “He’s dead and burned. I provided only a mass of material. A body with no soul. That was all that was asked of me.”

“And then it was taken to Kamino.” Ahsoka shuddered, thinking about a  _ body with no soul _ . Had it still been on Kamino, when Grievous attacked? The thought that they had just had his body, that they’d been taking from it to build the Type 2s for years, made her gorge rise. “But  _ why _ ? Why would you - why would you  _ do  _ it? Any of it?”

Talzin was quiet for a moment, long enough for them to enter another chamber with a door that shut behind them, cutting off the sound of the approaching droids. Their blasters started against the door almost immediately. When she spoke finally, her voice was a rasp, “One of the Dark siders came here. Long years ago. Before you were born, child. He was a powerful man. He tried to subjugate my will, to take me away, as his apprentice.” She coughed, wetly, “But I refused him. So he stole my son, instead.”

Ahsoka hesitated, looking around the small chamber they were in. There was another hallway, leading out. She said, “I’m sorry.”

“Your pity is not needed,” Talzin said, and then weakly lifted a hand. “No. Set me down here. Leave me.” Rex glanced at Ahsoka; she shrugged. This situation had sped beyond her control long ago. He sank to his knees, and Talzin continued, “Another fine lord came to me years later, for your Obi-Wan Kenobi. He came to me and begged for help. And he offered me, in return for my aid, vengeance. Terrible vengeance, on the one who stole from me. And a son, to replace the one I lost.” 

Her mouth crooked up. “And then he brought me a daughter, instead.” She raised a hand, cupping Katya’s head. “He was not a foolish man, I suppose.”

Ahsoka shuddered. “Who? What man?” A terrible suspicion took her, seizing her heart and twisting. “Master Qui-Gon?”

Talzin shook her head, back and forth, against the wall. Katya had knelt beside her, gripping her hand. The droids were almost through the door; Ahsoka could hear their speech as they chattered to one another. “No. That wasn’t his name.” Her eyes were drifting shut, sinking irrevocably downward.

Ahsoka crouched beside her, gripping her shoulder, shaking her a bit. “Well, who was it, then? What was his name?”

Talzin shifted, taking Katya’s hand, placing it in Ahsoka’s. “You spoke a vow to take my daughter to safety,” she said, wheezing.

“And I will,” Ahsoka insisted, curling her fingers around Katya’s. “But this man--”

“He gave me a false name,” Talzin said, slumping down against the wall. “But only the first time he visited. He has come to me… many times… since then. I told him… he would get us both killed.” Her eyes fluttered and shut. Ahsoka swore, reaching out to shake her. She had an aching feeling she knew already what the answer would be, but she needed to hear it, needed something she could bring to Anakin,  _ proof _ .

“Please,” she said, pushing at Talzin with the Force. “Please, what was his name?”

Talzin’s eyes slitted. “Dooku,” she wheezed. “That was his name. And now, you take my daughter from here. Take her. I will…. Buy you time.”

Ahsoka felt frozen to her marrow. She’d known - or at least suspected - that no one on their side could have ordered the Type 2s. Each step of this conversation had only directed her more firmly to that realization. But to hear it spoken, to know it was  _ Dooku _ \--

She pushed the thought aside, focusing. Her memory had been tampered with, multiple times. So had Anakin’s, Rex’s, and even Barriss’s. They had each been around a Type 2. Ben had done something to her. Ben was with Anakin, right at that moment, probably, and Ahsoka had no idea what he really wanted, what he was planning to do.

Behind them, the droids made it through the door, blaster shocks richoteting wildly around the room. Rex grunted, “Alright, time to go.” 

“Wait,” Ahsoka said, “wait, but why, why did he do any of this--”

“No time,” Rex said, hauling her to her feet and pushing her towards the passage. Katya was curled down over Talzin, fingers twisted into her robes. She shoved out when Rex reached for her, and he bent, lifting her bodily away. “Go!” He snapped to Ahsoka, as she lingered in the doorway.

She swore, turned on her heel, and went. She saw Talzin raising a hand, weakly, as the door shut behind them, closing them into the dark. She expected Katya to rage and thrash against them, to yell, but she had gone cold and quiet in the Force. She did not protest, as Rex set her down, just marched beside them, silent as the grave itself.

And Ahsoka didn’t know what she expected to find at the end of the tunnel, when they finally reached it after a long uphill trip of twists and turns, but it was not an entire platoon of the 501st, blasters up and helmets on, prepared to charge inwards.

They were the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen, and she jerked forward, blurting, “Thank the Force. I need you to contact General Skywalker right away.”

#

Ben couldn’t focus, couldn’t think. His brain hurt, all the way through, and nothing the medics gave him put a dent in it. They shouldn’t have gone to Dathomir, he knew that much. He just couldn’t grasp  _ why _ . Everytime he tried to think about it his thoughts slid away, off to the side, into nothingness.

He lay on the medical table, enduring more scans and resisting the urge to curl his body into a ball. They were at Dathomir and they couldn’t be at Dathomir and -- And he twisted his fingers against the sheers, digging his heels against the bed, knowing he had to make Anakin understand that they couldn’t go to Dathomir, but it was too late, it--

His thoughts went like that, chasing each other in ever decreasing circles, until he felt a shift in the air around him, a change in the thoughts of the medics. They had been concerned, worried about him, the weight of it had pressed at him, offering some distraction from the pain. 

They worried, still, but not about him. And there were other emotions there. Anger. Fear. He rolled his head to look when one leaned over the bed, expression twisted into a scowl, eyes hard as a rock. They shouldn’t have come to Dathomir. “What’s wrong?” he rasped, marshalling enough concentration to form the words.

The medic didn’t say anything, just grabbed Ben’s arm, twisting it over, baring the soft underside of it. “What are you doing?” The medic felt angry, terrified. Ben started to sit, and other hands grabbed his shoulders, pushing him back down. “What’s--”

There was a bite of pain, in his arm, cool and sharp. A burn raced up through his veins; they’d pushed whatever medication they gave him too fast. They shouldn’t have come to Dathomir. The medics loomed over him like shadows, like spectres, blocking out the light. He shook himself, pushing back against them. “What’s--”

“Give him more,” someone snapped, their panic flooding into Ben’s head. They were afraid of him, so afraid of him, they wanted to-- He tried to twist off of the bed, and a medic scrambled up, throwing weight across his legs, hands on his shoulders, pushing him down. 

“I gave him as much as--”

“Knock him out!” the order was barked. “Do it now!” Ben struggled against all the hands holding him down, fighting to breathe as another burn went up his arm. His vision was going black, all around the edges. They never should have come to Dathomir. He twisted, but his limbs were going numb, they weren’t responding to him anymore. His thoughts felt far away, his head full of clouds that tasted like salt.

He felt himself sinking down into blackness, though he did not lose consciousness, even still. He was just left adrift, defenseless, buffeted by their surrounding fear and anger. “Kriff, finally. Get him restrained,” someone said, their words flowing into his mind like water into a cup, like poison into a vein, like screaming into an empty room.

#

For Anakin, hearing Ahsoka’s voice had been sweet relief, for about five seconds. He’d known she still lived, but her emotions had been in tumult for so long. Hearing her speak, having proof she was alright, had diminished some of the ache in his gut, but only until he heard what she was saying.

“I know who made Ben,” she said, her voice crackling a bit over the comms of his fighter. “I - I found out. Down here, there was a woman, and--”

“Snips,” he said, throwing his fighter into a spin. “Take a breath.”

He heard her gulp at air over the line. And then she said, voice quaking, “It was Count Dooku, Anakin. He did it. He ordered it.”

Anakin blew up a fighter, jerked into a roll, and felt ice spreading through his chest. “Very funny, Snips.”

“I’m not joking, Master,” she said, and he knew, he felt her terrible sincerity. He’d been unable to say anything for a moment, the urge to deny too thick on his tongue. But that had passed, burned up by a flash of anger that started in the middle of his skull and spread outward like wildfire.

He barked orders, warnings to the troopers on the ship - to  _ all  _ the Republic ships. He ordered Ahsoka to get her ass off Dathomir as soon as possible. And he took apart the fleet before him, blankly, mechanically, his fury some animal thing inside him, like another creature.

He’d trusted Ben. He’d  _ believed  _ all the things he felt from Ben, and all along he’d been - been a plant, sent by the enemy. It must have been Ben, who wiped his memory, who touched Ahsoka’s mind and took away an entire day. They’d been played, taken advantage of, he’d lost Qui-Gon over this, he’d have spilled everything he knew to some mercs over this, he’d--

He stopped thinking, at some point. There was too much anger for it. It took him through the battle - he called off the attack, once he got word that Ahsoka and his men were off Dathomir. They’d done enough damage to the Separatists, and he no longer cared about finishing the job.

He came in hot for his landing; R2 complained about it, but he ignored the little droid, leaping out of the fighter. He could feel Ahsoka, concerned, looking for him. He ignored that, too. He felt  _ Ben _ , foggy and confused, hurt. Anakin’s feet took him  _ there _ , through the ship, down to the brig.

Ben was in a cell, alone, arms behind his back. He slumped in one corner; he felt barely conscious. His robes were missing and his blacks were twisted, pulled crooked. Anakin waved a hand over the controls for the cell, taking a step in, so furious he could barely breathe.

Ben lifted his head, shaking it a little, unfocused gaze lifting to Anakin, to his face, down again, and he was--

Terrified, abruptly. His eyes widened, pupils already as large as they could be as he tried to push back further into the corner. He made a little sound, a whine in the back of his throat as his heels pushed against the floor.

Anakin jerked to a stop. It felt like he’d run into a wall at full speed. He listened to his heart beat, pounding in his ears. He followed Ben’s gaze without even thinking, down his arm, to his clenched hand, and took a step back. 

“Oh, Force,” he panted, nausea climbing up his throat.  _ You’re hurting me _ , Ben had told him, once, so long ago, and Anakin hadn’t listened. He’d just been angry. So angry he didn’t care about anything but his own hurt.

He was doing it again. 

The realization lanced through him like a blaster bolt. He’d -- he’d spent so much time, trying to make things right. Trying to undo it, and he’d gotten angry again and  _ immediately _ \-- He shook his head, the cold horror inside him smothering the anger, at least enough that he could think.

He moved forward again, and Ben flinched back, ducking his chin down towards his shoulder. Anakin swallowed bile, crouching beside him, stumbling over, “It’s, Ben, I’m not -- come on. We need to get you out of here.”

He reached for the cuffs at Ben’s wrists. They’d been put on too tightly. His fingers were tinging to blue. Anakin released them before he could change his mind. Ben pulled his arms around, looking up at Anakin, his eyes  _ blown _ , a sign of whatever the medics had down to him. He still managed to slur, “Anakin? What?”

Anakin said, “You have to go. I’m not going to hurt you, Ben.” He offered out a hand, and Ben, slowly, too slowly, took it. Anakin pulled him to his feet. Ben swayed against him, knees threatening to give. Anakin dragged one of Ben’s arms over his shoulders, half-pulling him towards the doors.

“I don’t--why?”

There was a guard outside the cells. Anakin hadn’t acknowledged the trooper on the way in, and the man hadn’t done anything to slow Anakin’s progress, though he  _ knew  _ what his expression had looked like. He waved the door open and said, lifting a hand, “You want to go somewhere else and sleep.”

The trooper echoed his words, turning on his heel. Anakin took Ben in the opposite direction, towards the hangers, his thoughts racing along a thousand parsecs a click. “What’s…” Ben still felt blurry around the edges. Unfocused. Confused. But at least he didn’t feel afraid, anymore. “Why am I going?”

Anakin changed corridors and direction as they went, avoiding spots of life ahead. He just needed to get Ben to the hangar, and then everything would be alright. Then he could allow the pressure inside his chest to come out. He just had to focus on his goal. He said, lifting Ben when his legs stopped working completely, “Because you can’t stay, Ben. If I don’t hurt you, someone else will.”

And he couldn’t allow that to happen. He  _ wouldn’t _ . He’d meant it when he said he was sorry, so kriffing sorry. He could still feel Ben’s pain, the way it had filled up his world, the way it had made him want to die, just to escape it. Anakin  _ wouldn’t _ let it happen, but he couldn’t trust himself to feel the same way in an hour.

He’d been so angry, and he’d stopped thinking about anyone else, and he wouldn’t risk it, wouldn’t risk having Ben around.

He didn’t trust himself. It was an awful realization, but there was no time to dwell on it. They’d reached the hangar. “You need to wait here, for a click,” he said, lowering Ben, who swayed alarmingly, but stayed temporarily upright. Anakin’s fighter was still warm. A crew was working on it, refueling, getting it ready for launch again. 

They were only just bringing over the lift to get R2 out.

Anakin leaned Ben against the wall, behind a stack of crates, and walked across the hangar floor. “You want to go take a break,” he said, taking the fuel line from one of the techs as he spoke. They echoed him, stepping back. He disconnected the fuel line. It probably wasn’t a full tank, but he didn’t dare wait.

Someone was going to realize what he was doing, sooner or later. He already felt Ahsoka’s thoughts against his, curious and worried. He pushed her aside, heading back towards Ben, who had sunk down, leaning against the wall, head tilted to one shoulder.

Anakin swore, bending and lifting him. Ben’s head fell against his shoulder, like, in that moment, against all sense and reason, he  _ did  _ trust Anakin again. It was the reassurance Anakin needed to push forward, up the steps to his fighter. Depositing Ben into the seat felt awkward, but he managed, reaching over to set the autopilot controls, to hand over command to R2 for the foreseeable future.

“I’m sending him with you,” he said, glancing back at R2. “You get him far away from here, you hear me?” R2 warbled back, confused and indignant. “I don’t have time to argue with you right now. He  _ needs  _ to be away from here. Away from any Republic ships, you understand?”

R2 whistled sharply, and Anakin froze. “Yeah. I need you to keep him safe. Safe for me, alright?” He took a breath, held it, bent, and pressed a single kiss to the top of Ben’s head. Then he straightened, the cockpit closing. Ben was staring at him, bleary eyed. He felt confused, lost. He raised a hand, a small wave. Anakin pressed a hand to the dome, and then looked away.

“Look after him,” he said, passing his palm over R2’s dome, hearing the engines spool up. He slid down the stairs, pulling them away from the fighter. Around the hangar, other techs were finally taking note of what was happening. Some were yelling. Anakin ignored them, stepping back, keeping his eyes on the fighter as it started forward.

No one managed to stop R2. Anakin had known they wouldn’t. He watched the fighter slip out, into space, and walked backwards until he ran into a wall. He pushed his shoulders back against it, gulping for breath all at once. His true hand shook, he curled his fingers into a fist to stop it, tilting his face up to the ceiling.

He was still gulping for breath when Ahsoka found him, sliding into the hangar. “Master!” she said, pivoting to face him. “Master, Ben - the Type 2 - is missing. We think he took your fighter, we have to--”

“Let him go,” Anakin rasped, though it cost him. All the anger under his skin was trying to crawl back. He felt Ahsoka’s surprise and grabbed onto it, needing something, some other emotion to hold back what he was feeling.

“Anakin?” she asked, eyes wide and worried when he finally looked at her.

“Let him go,” he repeated, scrubbing a hand over his face, feeling hollow inside. “Let him get as far away from us all as he can.”

Ahsoka shifted around. He felt her confusion and discomfort. “I don’t understand,” she said. “He… I thought you’d be angry.”

“I am.” The anger was still there, simmering inside him. Kriff, he was so angry. But the memory of agony had been, at least for a time, enough to keep that anger buried, where it only cut at him. Ahsoka stared at him, a furrow in her brow, and he shook his head. “It’s just better this way,” he said. “You’ll understand someday.”

She stared like she didn’t believe him, and why would she? Anakin wouldn’t have believed himself, a few months ago. She blew out a breath then, and said, “Well… There’s someone I think you should see. Someone we found down on the planet.”

#

Cody had barely found any time to be alone with Once, not since Crys went mad and tried to kill him. Carving out a few moments alone in a quiet space was the best they could do, so they had to make the most of it, and did.

It was necessary to remember that there was still  _ something  _ good in the galaxy. He found it with Once panting against his mouth, gone sweet and pliant in his arms, so, of course, the moment was spoiled by his kriffing comm going off.

Cody swore, reaching for the damned thing - there wasn’t room for it to go very far - while keeping one hand on Once and nuzzling against his jaw. He trusted Once not to make any noises, as he accepted the comm; it was, after all, on the emergency channel.

He’d expected word of a Separatist fleet sneaking up on them.

He couldn’t even comprehend, at first, what he actually heard. He froze, pressed close to Once, skin to skin, all down the length of their bodies, listening to impossible words. “Understood,” he said, when the message ended, lifting his head, finally, to look at Once, who had heard it all, heard every word spoken.

He looked like he might be ill, gone so pale all the freckles on his cheeks stood out, stark as drops of blood. And Cody thought about the tension left behind in the 212th by General Jinn’s actions, he thought about Crys’s insistence that they couldn’t trust Once, he thought about blaster bolts, and swore, taking a step back and grabbing for his clothes.

“Get dressed,” he said, pulling on his blacks, jerking at them, tearing out a seam in his haste. He glanced back when he felt no movement. Once was just standing there, staring at nothing, naked and shivering and -- “Get  _ dressed _ ! We need to get you out of here.”

Once shifted his gaze, blinking at Cody. “What?”

“You heard the comm,” Cody said. Kriffing hell, someone on this ship was going to tear Once apart. And he knew -  _ knew  _ \- it was his duty to march Once down to the brig, lock him up, and leave him to it. “Come on, we don’t have time.”

“I can’t go,” Once said, though he did at least start reaching for clothes. “Cody, I can’t just - run away. You have to take me to the brig.”

Cody paused in the middle of yanking on his chest armor. “What?”

“It’s - I was - my brothers and I were made by Count Dooku. I can’t - I  _ should  _ be in the brig.” He sounded like he was speaking from somewhere far away. Cody caught his shoulders, pulling him around.

“We don’t know that’s true.” Who the kriff  _ cared  _ what Skywalker thought he found on some backwater in Wild Space? Skywalker had something against the Type 2s, anyway, anything he said was suspect. “But no one is going to care whether it’s true or not, not right now, so we need to--”

“If it’s not true, they’ll let me out,” Once said, chin coming up.

And Cody leaned forward and kissed him, hard, and said, “No. Come on, let’s go to the hangar, I’ll find--”

“Cody, stop.” Once sounded exhausted, all at once. “You can’t do this. I can’t do this.”

“I don’t see why the hell not,” Cody said, dragging a hand back over his head. Once didn’t know enough about the universe yet, obviously, if he couldn’t see all the ways this was about to go wrong for him.

Once flashed him a smile, crooked. “Master Yoda is listening to us, now,” he said. “He’s taking us at our word, about the chips, about what I saw on Coruscant with Nith, about all of it. What’s he going to think after this, Cody, if I run? I have to stay. I have to - to show that it isn’t true. That I’m not a double agent, or, or anything like that.”

Cody ground his jaw together, flinching when Once looked to the side, and continued. “Besides. What if - what if I am? You and your brothers, you have the chips. What if there’s something inside me, Cody? Something that could make me hurt all of you?”

“No one’s putting me and my brothers in the brig,” Cody said, gruffly, and knew it wasn’t much, as rebuttals went.

“If everyone knew,” Once said, quietly, “they might do worse. You know I’m right. This is what we have to do. It’s the  _ right  _ thing to do. We need General Yoda to keep trusting  _ you  _ at the very least. And I - I don’t want special treatment. You’ve got your orders. You have to follow them.”

Cody swallowed around the knot in his throat. He swore, turning aside, listening to Once finish dressing. “Alright,” he said, when Once reached out and touched his arm. “Alright, but I don’t like this at all.”

Once smiled thinly at him, sliding his grip down to squeeze Cody’s hand. “I’m not enjoying it, either.”

#

The girl looked half-feral, sitting on a bunk in one of the visitor’s rooms on the  _ Resolute _ , her knees pulled up and her arms wrapped around her legs. She had copper hair. Blue eyes. Those were familiar. The tattoos on her face were… less so. 

Anakin stared at her, feeling a flare of fresh anger, sharp and deep. He reached out and rested a hand on Ahsoka’s shoulder. She felt… confused. Confusion was a powerful emotion. He drew on it, filling his head with it, till he felt dizzy. “Hey, kid,” he said, and the girl glanced at him, eyes narrowed and mouth pressed thin.

_ She  _ felt frightened. And angry, too. “I hear your name is Katya,” Anakin said, staying well back from her. “I’m Anakin. Anakin Skywalker.”

She only stared at him. He didn’t know what he expected. Per Ahsoka’s report, she’d grown up on the backwater disappearing behind them. It hadn’t seemed like they were keeping up with galactic events, before the Separatists showed up to kill them all. “We’re… going to take care of you, Ahsoka tells me. Are you hurt?”

“My mother and sisters are dead,” she said, finally, still watching him with Ben’s eyes. She shifted, placing her hand on her chest. “I hurt here.”

That was where Ben kept his hurts, too. Maybe it was just… part of their genetic code, Anakin considered. He said, quietly, tasting regret in the back of his throat, “I can’t take away that kind of hurt.”

She curled her neck over, resting her face on her knees. Anakin glanced back at Ahsoka, who shrugged. The girl didn’t  _ feel  _ dangerous. Just heartsick. And she was just a child. Anakin nudged Ahsoka into the room - it didn’t seem like a  _ great  _ idea to leave Katya alone - and stepped out, scrubbing a hand over his face.

He had so much to report to the Council and the Senate, and no idea where to start.

#

Padmé thought the meeting with Senators Organa and Mon Mothma had gone well. They’d been receptive to what Nith had to tell them, especially Bail, as she’d expected. Surely, spending time around another of Nith’s brothers, in such dire circumstances a year ago, would have left an impression.

It evidently had. 

Even Mon Mothma warmed up, eventually, as Nith explained what had happened to him, what he had found. Their meeting lasted hours, leaving Padmé exhausted but too full of energy to sleep. So many of the worries she’d told herself were unfounded were turning out to be built on a distressingly solid foundation.

“We should eat something,” she said, as they slipped from Organa’s apartments. It would be nice to enjoy a meal, and perhaps they could speak. She felt the need to tell Nith  _ something  _ about how she had known Obi-Wan. Surely he deserved to know that much, if not… If not about the affection she’d born him, all these years.

He glanced at her; it was strange, still, to see his face utterly unaged. But he wasn’t Obi-Wan, and she knew that. For one thing, she was fairly certain that Obi-Wan would never have said, “Do you have some place in mind?”

She smiled. “I do, as a matter of fact.” She was telling him briefly of the menu, how she had found the restaurant, when the comm in her personal shuttle started playing an emergency message. She stiffened. There hadn’t been an emergency broadcast in some time, and she felt a chill creep over her skin, with each word.

The voice - there was no visual - across the comm said terrible things. Impossible things. She looked over at Nith, her heart racing in her chest, and he said, “That’s a lie, that isn’t possible, Senator, it isn’t possible.”

He looked pale, sick. The comm had said that, if one spotted a Type 2 clone, they should report it to the authorities immediately. They were dangerous, the comm had said. Unpredictable. 

Padmé swallowed, her alarm fading by degrees. The Chancellor must have found out. He must have realized they were getting close. He had - to all evidence - already tried to kill Nith multiple times. Spreading this kind of information about the Type 2s would solve his problems neatly. She said, “I know.”

He stared at her, wide-eyed, as they moved through traffic. “You know?”

“I’d hardly just believe you were a homicidal maniac sent by the enemy. I spent my life in politics, I’m not that gullible,” she said, shifting forward to speak to the droid piloting the shuttle. “There’s been a change of plans, take me to my personal cruiser, if you don’t mind. I’m needed on Naboo.”

“Senator,” Nith started, as the droid changed their course. “What--”

“You really need to stick to Padmé,” she said, flashing him a brief smile, “especially since I’m about to smuggle you off this planet.”

It had been, really, far too long since she had an adventure. Her mother had always chided her for her need to jump into trouble feet first, but it had gotten her where she was, it had resulted in the salvation of their planet, it had uncovered the Separatists before they could sweep across the Republic unawares.

And it was going to get Nith off of Coruscant, before Palpatine managed to kill him.

“Padmé,” he said, and she wondered how long it would stick, this time. “You don’t have to do this. I’ll be a wanted man.”

“Which means you need to disappear.” She reached out, touching his hand only briefly. “No one will look for you on Naboo. We’ll go there and figure out our next move.”

He relaxed, after a moment, nodding, and passed the rest of the trip in silence as Padmé made a few necessary comms, leaving an adequate trail to show she’d been called off-world, trusting Jar Jar to hold up to at least light questioning.

She was still speaking with Jar Jar as the transport landed. Nith stepped out first, holding out a hand to her, and she caught a flash of light off of metal, over his shoulder. Someone had tried to kill him three times. It was no leap of logic to assume they’d try a fourth. 

Padmé yanked on him, pulling him half back into the shuttle, hearing the impact of a ballistic shot a moment later. He spun, lightsaber in hand to deflect the bolts that followed. Padmé caught a glimpse of red hair, pale skin, a figure hovering on a speeder bike some distance away.

She felt her stomach lurch when the figure turned, pointing the nose of the speeder towards them, and accelerating. It was a reckless charge, gun firing the entire way, and Padmé watched the driver pull the vehicle’s nose up at the last second, to avoid hitting the landing pad.

Nith reached out a hand and yanked down, pushing Padmé back a step as the speeder jerked downward, catching the edge of the pad. She heard him swear as he shoved her back into the transport, pushing in after her as a wave of heat and flame passed by.

“Well,” she said, after the explosion had passed, tasting smoke in her mouth, with Nith pressed close against her. “Well, I suppose  _ she  _ won’t be trying to kill you again.”

“Someone else probably will,” he said, easing back a step. Her heart rate did not slow. It had felt nice, being pressed so close against him. She could feel the heat coming off of her cheeks. He didn’t comment, though he did glance back at her with something curious in his eyes. “You said something about getting off world?”

“Yes.” She sounded breathy, even to herself, and cleared her throat. “Yes, come on, I have everything in order.”

#

They’d pumped Ben full of chemicals, buried him in a fog that made the world seem like it was coming apart at the edges, spinning away from him at ever increasing speeds. It left his system slowly, returning thought to him in bits and pieces. He became aware of the stars outside the cockpit as something more than blurring light, and the discomfort of his current position.

He shifted, and an astrometric droid chirped at him. He’d never learned to speak their language. It took a moment to remember that the screens in front would provide a translation. He blinked at the lights and sensors until they eventually made sense, and then said, “I don’t know if I’m alright.”

His mouth felt dry. His head hurt terribly. There were marks around his wrists. He vaguely remembered being shacked, the ache in his shoulders as his arms were twisted back, familiar white-clad bodies handling him un-gently.

He closed his eyes, sure he was going to be ill and not wanting to be in the cockpit of a fighter. Other memories crept in, behind his shut eyes. He remembered Anakin, a flash of anger from him, and then… hands, lifting him. A kiss on his forehead. Words that were jumbled and didn’t make any sense, no matter how many times he played them back. 

He must have drifted, because he snapped awake when the droid warbled again. He glanced at the screen. “Almost where?” he asked, rubbing at his eyes, and, after the reply, “What do you mean, someplace no one will look for me? Why are people looking for me?”

The droid made a faintly irritated sound, before chirping away. Ben read everything, stiffening in the seat, forgetting to breathe completely. “Sithspit,” he whispered, finally, covering his mouth with a shaking hand. He couldn’t process it, all at once. How could he  _ possibly _ have been ordered by Dooku? It had to be some kind of trick, it had to be….

His attention was snagged as they began their descent through atmosphere. The planet below was the color of dust. He pressed his face against the cool edge of the cockpit. “Where are we? Where did you bring me?”

The droid warbled an answer, and Ben frowned, briefly, as he read it. “Tatooine? Why?”

The little droid hesitated a moment, before replying. Even when it did, it’s answer didn’t make much sense. Ben couldn’t understand  _ why  _ Anakin would never come back to the planet. 

#

The Council and the Senate both wanted to speak with Anakin and Ahsoka right away. Anakin got a half-dozen personal messages from the Chancellor about it. The man seemed abnormally concerned, but, then, Anakin supposed word  _ had  _ gotten out that he’d put his Type 2 in a fighter and sent him away.

He should probably get used to getting some strange looks. Maybe they’d court martial him.

Then again, he wasn’t exactly  _ alone _ . He heard from Ahsoka that Master Unduli’s Padawan had actually taken off  _ with  _ their Type 2, to parts unknown. There were similar reports from around the fleet, but not  _ all  _ of the Jedi had responded that way.

Anakin read over all of the reports on their way back to Coruscant, feeling ill when he got to Krell’s. Apparently, his Type 2 had turned on him, or so he said, anyway. He’d summarily executed the man. Some of the other Generals had taken their Type 2s into custody, as Yoda had. Apparently, most of the clones hadn’t fought it.

They were, per the reports he read, just as confused as everyone else, horrified by the information spreading across the fleet, and then the news, after someone leaked it, of their origins. Anakin read report after report, and hoped that Ben was somewhere safe, keeping his face hidden.

He was  _ supposed  _ to go directly back to Coruscant, but nothing ever went the way it was planned. Instead, they ended up over Sullust, and the  _ Resolute  _ ended up in chunks of burning wreckage. It felt… oddly fitting, Anakin thought, after the battle was over, back on the  _ Fallen Star  _ for the first time since Qui-Gon’s death. Everything else in his life was in burning pieces, too.

The halls of the  _ Fallen Star _ were full of memories, most of them unpleasant. He avoided the entire level where he’d hurt Ben as he paced the ship, unable to settle after the battle. He knew there was another Type 2 onboard. The one Qui-Gon had called Obi-Wan. The one he’d hit, last time he was aboard. He grimaced, walking faster, as though that would help him escape the memories, but they only played back, over and over again.

Anger clawed at him, anger that started with a focus on himself and then spread outward. He could almost feel it, as though it were a living thing, growing inside him like a parasite. He hated it, loathed it, wanted it  _ out  _ of him.

Perhaps that was how he ended up in front of Yoda’s quarters. Anakin pushed aside the knowledge that they used to be Qui-Gon’s quarters. He knocked and waited, shifting impatiently from foot to foot until Yoda answered the door. “Troubled, you are,” Yoda said, without even looking at him, waving him into the room. “Come, come, sit, you will.”

Anakin didn’t want to sit. He wanted to pace, to excise some of the horrible energy in his bones, but he folded his legs, and he sat. He watched Yoda watch him, eyes heavy-lidded. Yoda had fought directly in the battle; he radiated exhaustion. His presence in the Force felt weak, and Anakin had a wash of guilt. Yoda frowned, and said, “Worry for me, you should not. Tell me why you have come, you will.”

Anakin grimaced, looking to the side. He’d never liked the way some of the older Jedi could just look into his mind. Yoda and Mace, in particular, had always given him the impression that they could read all his thoughts and didn’t particularly care for what they saw.

Well.

Anakin wasn’t happy about what was in his mind these days, either. He swallowed his discomfort, and said, “I’m sorry to bother you so late, Master. I just - I needed to speak with you.” He could feel Yoda watching him. Waiting. He worked his jaw, fighting to get the words out. “You’ve always - always been worried about my anger,” he said, finally. “Since I first came to the Order.”

Yoda hummed. “A concern, it has been, but not--”

“I’m worried, too,” Anakin cut in, before he lost his nerve. He felt Yoda’s surprise and kept staring at the ground, fighting to keep his breathing even.

“Worried you, what has?”

Anakin swallowed. “I just. I’ve been so - so angry. Especially since Master Qui-Gon died.” It had started before that, he knew. He’d been angry with Ben off-and-on since the day he came aboard, since the first time Ben looked at him. “I haven’t been able to control it, every time. I’ve hurt people, Master.”

He expected Yoda to recoil in shock and disgust, but Yoda wasn’t projecting at all. He had control, the kind Anakin wanted, desperately. “Telling me this, why are you?”

Anakin had always hated these games, people asking him questions they knew the answer to, trying to see if he’d say the right thing. It brought the anger back, and he recoiled from it, unable to feel it all around the swell of remembered pain. He held onto that hurt like a lifeline, grounding himself in it. “So you can help me,” he said. 

Yoda shifted. “Peace through meditation, you can--”

“With respect, Master,” Anakin interrupted, looking up with a scowl. “Meditation has never helped.”

Yoda met him stare for stare. Anakin looked away first. “See that, I can,” Yoda said, with a sigh, and he stood. “Very well. Show me this anger, you will.” Anakin froze as Yoda approached him. Master Qui-Gon had tried to guide his anger away through meditation, more than once, but Anakin had never liked people in his mind, except Ben.

He swallowed a reflexive protest. He could let Yoda look into his head, if that was what it took. There was a part of him, curled tight in the back of his mind, that thought it wouldn’t matter. He’d been angry his entire life. The war had only made it worse, Qui-Gon’s death had only made it worse,  _ everything  _ made it worse.

Yoda’s fingers felt cool on his skin. He focused on not stiffening at the intrusion into his thoughts, but when it came he barely felt it. Yoda’s power in the Force was… beyond what he had anticipated. It was like a soft breeze, curling around Anakin. Anakin tracked his presence by the memories that flashed, unprompted, across his mind.

There he was, opening the door to Ben’s cell, there he was watching the Twi’lek drag fingers against Ben’s skin, there he was on the  _ Fallen Star-- _

He jerked, becoming aware that he’d pulled back from Yoda, turning his face to the side, bringing one hand up, warding. There was no sound in the room but his breathing, loud and shaking. “Well?” he rasped, after a moment, when Yoda did not speak and he could no longer bear the silence.

“Deep within you, the anger is,” Yoda said, speaking slowly. “Strong, it is. Fed it, often, you have.”

Anakin flinched. “I can’t help--”

“Listen, you will,” Yoda interrupted, without raising his voice. “Useful to you, excuses will not be.” Anakin clicked his teeth together. “Learned to trust your anger, you did, long ago. Kept you safe, it did.” Yoda sighed, then. Anakin looked over to find him staring at the ground. “Kept the Republic safe, it has. But misleads, anger does. And easy to manipulate, anger is.”

Anakin shivered at his last words, the way he said them. Master Yoda did not often sound so portentous. Yoda’s expression twisted into a grimace. “Master?” Anakin asked. “I don’t understand.”

“Tainted by the Dark side, your thoughts are.”

Anakin recoiled, shaking his head, “No, I haven’t--”

“Dark in all of us, there is,” Yoda said, chiding. “Fed by anger and fear, it is, in your mind. But.” He raised a hand. “Sense something else, in your thoughts, I do. An old connection, I feel. A bond.”

Anakin blinked at him. “I - the only bond I still have is to Ahsoka. Master Qui-Gon’s broke, and--” And Ben’s was still broken, aching, a wound unwilling to heal. He thought it would fade, if Ben died, so he looked forward to the ache of it, the proof that, somewhere out there, Ben was still alive. He swallowed. “And I had one. With Ben.”

Yoda stared at him, expression unreadable, and then shook his head. “No, another, there is. Very old. Small. Placed carefully.”

Anakin jerked to his feet and felt foolish for it, but he couldn’t keep sitting, even if it left him looming over Yoda. “What? That’s not--” But why would Yoda lie about such a thing? And, anyway, he didn’t  _ feel  _ like he was lying when Anakin pushed at him. “Who does it go to?”

Yoda shook his head. “Know that, I cannot, but I sense--”

Anakin turned aside, shutting his eyes, sinking into his thoughts. He knew what bonds felt like; he dug, looking for something hidden amongst the others, the broken connections to Qui-Gon and Ben, the living tether to Ahsoka, and found…

Something small. Cool. Without sensation or color or life. It hung unnoticed, how could it not, when surrounded by such vibrancy? All of Anakin’s other bonds had been strong, robust. This one felt like a shadow cast by the others. He heard Yoda saying something, from far away, felt cool fingers on his arm, but he ignored it.

He pushed at the connection, pushed  _ hard _ , he was angry again, it was better than being afraid, and felt… ice. Ice and darkness, oily satisfaction, a twisting kind of pleasure that made him feel unclean under his skin, and, all at once, attention, focused directly on him.

It felt…familiar. And overwhelming. Surprised, with surprise quickly shifting to something sharper. Anakin jerked back, sure, all at once, that he would be followed into his mind, through this conduit placed without his will or approval. Anger flared again, hot and so easy for him to touch.

He knew bonds could be broken. Ben had torn theirs apart to protect himself. Anakin ripped and slashed at the connection on his side, ignoring the pain that came with it - Force, it  _ hurt  _ \- and gasping, struggling to breathe, opening his eyes to find himself on his hands and knees, limbs shaking, mind full of agony.

“Sh, sh,” Yoda was saying to him, a comforting hand on his shoulder. Anakin shifted enough to look at him, through the sweat-damp strands of his hair. He tasted blood in his mouth. “Removed it so roughly, you did not have to,” Yoda said, gently.

Anakin turned his face away again, spat on the ground. He’d have to apologize for that, later. “Yes,” he said. “I did. Is it gone? Can you feel it, still?”

Yoda made an unhappy little sound, but reached a hand out for Anakin’s face. His mind was cool and soothing, like deep, still water. Anakin closed his eyes and leaned into Yoda’s touch. “Gone, it is.” Yoda hesitated. “Injured, you are, by the bond with… Ben. Ease your pain, I--”

“No,” Anakin shifted, removing Yoda’s hand from his face. “Leave it.”

Yoda stared at him, expression sad. Anakin realized, crouched there on the floor, shaking and sweaty, how old Yoda looked. He looked away. “The - I felt the mind on the other side, for a moment. It felt…” He found he had no words. 

“Felt it, too, I did,” Yoda said. “Through you. Know, I do, what you saw.”

Anakin shuddered. “Do you know who it was?”

Yoda shook his head. “No. But always two, there are with the Sith. Count Dooku….”

Anakin frowned. “Ventress is the second, isn’t she?”

Yoda sighed, moving back, sinking onto one of the chairs in his quarters. “Trained Dooku, someone did. Another powerful Sith, there must be. Full of the Dark side, the connection in your mind was.”

“You think a Sith lord had a connection to my mind.” Anakin wanted to deny, but it was difficult when he still felt filthy inside. “But how? Why?”

“Connect with the Chosen One, why, you ask?” Yoda gave him a look, and Anakin flushed. “In the question, the answer is.”

Anakin couldn’t argue with that, even though he wanted to, the words rising to his lips. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “But it’s gone, now?” he asked, glancing sideways at Yoda. “The anger?”

Yoda shook his head, eyes sad. “From inside you, the anger came. Only fanned to extremes by the connection, it was.”

It wasn’t the answer Anakin had wanted, but it  _ was  _ the one he’d been pretty sure he was going to get. He glanced to the side. “There’s got to be something else I can do, then. Some other way to make it go away.”

Yoda was silent so long that Anakin looked back at him. Yoda was just watching him, unblinking. “Send it away, you cannot. Learn to control it, perhaps you can, now. With training.”

Anakin jerked out a nod. He’d give anything, try anything, to feel like he had some measure of control over himself again. “With training from you?” he asked, surprised when Yoda shook his head.

“No, with this, help you, I cannot. Dark in all of us, there is. Fed by anger, mine is not. Contact Master Windu, we will.” And it was on Anakin’s tongue to protest. Windu had never liked him, they didn’t get along in any way, shape, or form. But he could taste Ben’s fear and pain in the back of his head, and he only nodded, acquiescence in the curve of his neck.

#

Nothing was going according to plan. Everything had veered wildly off-course from around the time those clones of Kenobi started showing up. They were changing the careful order of the universe, or the war, which Palpatine had spent so long carefully setting into place.

His technicians had finally cracked the codes protecting the information gathered from the splinter station, after a, frankly, embarrassing amount of time. It had led them to Dathomir, but too slowly. Skywalker’s brattish Padawan had beat them to the cursed rock, drawing the boy along after.

The Jedi had spread the word quickly enough about the origin of the Type 2 clones, and allowed a tremendous number of the things to go to ground, disappearing out into the galaxy. A few had remained, but if he had gathered the information first, he could have made their capture so much smoother, cleaner, efficient.

Now he would have to hunt all the damned things down. 

He couldn’t rest, not completely, until they were all dead. Not with the  _ other  _ information they’d found in the station still rattling around in his mind. He could assume that Dooku’s plan had failed, whatever it had been, with the discovery of the clones’ origins... But he hadn’t gotten to his current position by making such dangerous assumptions.

A search would be in order, beginning immediately, on Coruscant, with the clone that had been seen consorting with Senator Amidala, perhaps…

He cracked his neck side to side. The thought of wringing the thing’s next brought him some brief satisfaction, but that faded quickly when he reached once more for Skywalker and got  _ nothing _ . He’d been able to reach the boy since he first came to Coruscant; for more than a decade he’d enjoyed a path into Skywalker’s mind, just enough to nudge him, here and there, to encourage his more interesting characteristics and urges.

The connection was  _ gone _ . Torn apart and shredded. He took a drink of his wine, a larger gulp than he intended, scowling out over the midnight lights of Coruscant. It was nothing but a small problem. He could get Skywalker back, lure him closer, handle him without a bond.

A  _ larger  _ problem was the increasing breakdown of the Separatist armies. Without Grievous to lead them, the entire mass was falling apart at the seams. He’d considered Dooku’s over-dramatic apprentice, the assassin, as a new leader, but she was both ill-suited to leadership and no longer to be trusted.

Instead, they went through Generals like water, shifting and changing, the Republic gaining ground he didn’t wish them to gain with each engagement….

He downed the rest of the wine and tossed the glass aside, listening to it shatter. At this rate, the Republic would win the war, the Jedi would be hailed as heroes, it would all go wrong… He shook his head, sniffing.

He wouldn’t allow it to happen. The universe - and Skywalker - just needed some direction, that was all. A firm hand. He could provide that. He would provide that. All would be well. It would just take time.


	10. Chapter 10

Palpatine had never enjoyed taking an active role in the grand game going on through the galaxy. Better, by far, to sit at a remove and watch the pieces move the way he wanted them to, dancing to discordant music they couldn’t hear.

That option was no longer open to him, not unless he wanted to let the board clear and start all over again from scratch. The Republic _was_ winning the war. That became more obvious each day. No amount of prevarication in the Senate changed it. He could feel hope moving through them, no matter what he did, led by Senator Organa and Mon Mothma. He was surprised Amidala didn’t play a larger role, but she seemed to be off-planet, currently.

He’d thought, for a time, that he could manage to get the Separatists going with the Count, but betrayal had turned that option to ash.

He’d always expected his apprentice would eventually turn against him. He would have been severely disappointed if Dooku had not tried. But he hadn’t anticipated the full breadth and scale of the event. He _still_ didn’t know how far it had gone.

Still, the Kenobi clones had mostly been neutralized. Many were incarcerated. They’d be dead, shortly. Those on the run would be hunted down, disappeared, quietly. It hadn’t taken much to convince Dooku’s wayward apprentice that the _Count_ had been responsible for the orders to raze Dathomir to the ground.

She was an angry creature, and anger was so easy to manipulate.

She was also desperate for approval. For a place, somewhere, in the galaxy. She’d happily murder whoever he asked her to kill, he knew. She’d be a useful tool, though he’d never trust her. Trust was for fools, anyway. With luck, she’d bring a few of the clones back to him, still alive, for questioning. There was so much he wanted to know.

But the clones were only one of the problems he had to sort. The war was a more pressing concern. It was so hard to get good help. He’d hoped to have Skywalker leading his armies, before this was all over. That was still possible, he supposed, with a bit of work.

It was not _currently_ an option he had on the table. All of his options were poor, each one more useless than the last. If things continued as they were, he wasn’t going to be able to threaten the Separatists into holding onto a war they all knew they were losing.

He sighed, frustration building into a headache. Sometimes, direct action _was_ called for, as much as he loathed it. Someone had to get things back on track. He had always known that if you wanted a thing done properly, you had to do it yourself.

It was past time to set the galaxy on fire, properly.

#

Ending up in the brig was never going to be an enjoyable experience, but Once thought it would have been better if he didn’t have company. They’d never been able to figure out what to do with Crys. He claimed to have no memory of firing a blaster at Once’s head, but the fact was that he _had_.

He was in the cellblock when Once was escorted in, dark eyes sharp and watchful, demanding information while Once was put in a tiny cell and shut in. Once ignored Crys, staring forward at Cody as the forcefield snapped to life between them, trying to smile.

They’d been through worse than this, he was sure. He couldn’t recall what the worse thing had been, but surely, surely, it had happened. Cody swallowed hard, jaw clenched, and nodded back at him. Once could feel how much Cody hated… the entire situation, but they had no other choices. 

Running would only serve Once, and that only temporarily. They had to handle this the right way. He’d be able to show that he didn’t know anything, that he wasn’t working against the Republic. Yoda would listen. They’d sort out the chips. Everything would be alright.

He fell into a troubled sleep, telling himself the same thing, sensing banked, simmering hatred from Crys in the adjacent cell. He woke to hotter anger and the sound of the door to the brig opening. He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling, feeling how everything was about to get worse. He said, sensing the troopers - at least a dozen of them - entering the brig, “You don’t have to do this.”

“We just want to ask you some questions,” one said. 

“I told you they weren’t to be trusted,” Crys put in. He sounded bloodthirsty. He felt… hungry. Vicious. Once rolled to his feet. He didn’t want to be lying down for what was coming. His heart jerked too fast in his chest. They’d taken all his weapons. He’d trusted Cody with his lightsabers. Master Yoda hadn’t decided to collar him, but against so many….

One of the troopers disengaged the forcefield on his cell. Once said, shifting his weight, hating the feel of the wall at his back, the knowledge that he had nowhere to go, “Please, don’t do this. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Someone scoffed. They had blasters. A few drew them. One leveled a gun at his head. “I don’t think you need to worry about that,” he said, and nodded to his brothers.

Two troopers moved into the cell. Once backed up, hit the wall, and knew he was projecting his sudden panic out into the Force, but none of his brothers were close enough to help. He had no idea if Master Yoda would care. Hands grabbed at his arms, a voice said, close to his ear, “You’re going to tell us what we want to know.”

And he could - he could feel their minds. He knew how to reach into them. He could do it, take control of them, temporarily, the ability sang along his nerves. _And then what_ , he thought, bracing for the violence he felt building on the air. How would he explain _that_ to Master Yoda? They weren’t going to kill him. That wasn’t what they were after, he just had to get through this and--

The first blow to his gut knocked the breath out of him. He tried to jerk away, but the Type 1s were, physically, stronger. They wouldn’t kill him. He held onto that thought, desperately, looking at them, trying one more time, “Please, I don’t know anything, I--”

He coughed, sagging, when they hit him again. They wouldn’t kill him. It was just pain. He could--

Light flooded into the room, all at once, as the door opened again. Reinforcements, Once assumed, with a shudder. The dread down his spine grew worse when a familiar voice demanded, “What the _kriff_ is going on here?”

He hadn’t known Skywalker was on the _Fallen Star_. His heart skipped a beat, remembering hot anger, an aching pain in his cheek. He gritted his teeth, bracing for whatever was going to happen next, as one of the troopers said, “We were just asking some questions, sir, it’s--”

“The hell you were,” Skywalker snapped. “Get your hands off of him, now. That’s an _order_ , just so we’re clear.”

Once sagged, when they released him. He caught himself against the wall, working to catch his breath as they drew back. Skywalker stood, limed in the doorway. He looked… like he’d just jumped out of bed. He wasn’t even wearing boots. The troopers made to go past him and he extended an arm across the door.

“Where do any of you think you’re going? You’re going to wait, right in here. Abusing a prisoner is against regulations.” He jerked his chin to the side. “There’s an empty cell down there. Put yourselves in it.”

For a moment, Once thought they’d argue, but something about Skywalker’s expression must have convinced them it was a bad idea. They moved off, pausing only when he snapped, “Blasters on the desk.” Skywalker scowled after them for a moment, and then raised a hand to his comm, and said, “Commander, there’s a situation in the brig I think you should be aware of.”

Once couldn’t hear Cody’s response. He stayed where he was, watching cautiously as Skywalker finally approached, pausing in the doorway to the cell. “Please,” Once said, tasting blood on his lips, holding out a hand, “I really - I swear, I don’t know anything.”

Skywalker’s expression broke. He was holding his emotions tightly, but something slipped through, grief and sharp regret. He said, “I know. I’m sorry I didn’t get here faster. I was asleep when I felt…” He waved a hand at the side of his head, and Once considered that apparently he’d projected far enough for Skywalker to pick it up.

It made no sense that Skywalker had charged down to… rescue him, apparently. It made no more sense when he felt Cody coming in the hall, alarm and anger mixing in his thoughts as he sprinted through the door, taking in the scene, continuing forward. 

Skywalker shifted to face him, saying, “Commander, I’m glad you’re here, the prisoner--”

Cody interrupted, slugging Skywalker across the jaw. Skywalker’s head snapped to the side. He stumbled a step, raising a hand to his face. Once jerked away from the wall, fresh worry flowing into his spine, blurting, “Cody, what are you--”

“I guess I deserved that,” Skywalker said, straightening, shifting his jaw experimentally side to side, wiping blood off of his mouth. “Kriffing right you did,” Cody snapped, his hands still clenched into fists. “It’s not all you deserve.”

“Cody!” Once took another step forward, to the edge of the cell. They hadn’t closed him in again, but he had a feeling he probably shouldn’t just walk out. Accusations that he’d attempted escape were the last thing they needed. “He came down here to help, don’t hit him.”

Skywalker looked between them, and Cody said, “What happened here?” The story sounded no better than living it had felt. Once watched Cody’s eyes get darker as he listened. Once only nodded confirmation of Skywalker’s story. He felt too exhausted to speak of it, happy when Skywalker finally left.

“It’s no more than he deserved,” Crys said, when Cody stepped into the cell, radiating a desire to draw Once into his arms that they couldn’t indulge. Too many cameras around for that, though apparently no one had cared about the troopers staging their impromptu interrogation. Once couldn’t really be surprised.

“Shut up,” Cody snapped, reaching out to Once and stopping before the touch landed. “I’ll get a medic down here.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Once said, managing a smile that only made the hurt he felt from Cody worse.

Not every day of his incarceration was full of so much excitement. In fact, for the most part it was crushingly boring, staring at the same three walls, listening to Crys rant and rave. Master Yoda did visit him, listening intently to everything he had to say, all while looking worse and worse. He felt… weak, through the Force. Dying. The constant strain of battle was too much for him at his age, but Once could no longer help with that. Yoda promised to continue looking into the chips, but….

But that didn’t change what Once was, who had made him. It didn’t get him out of the cell. He stayed there, locked up, as days shifted to weeks shifted to _months_. Cody couldn’t even tell him what was going on with the chips. They couldn’t _speak_ about anything important, about anything they didn’t want repeated.

They couldn’t touch, and it was torture to see Cody, to sit across from him during questioning - they always came back to questioning him, though he didn’t know _anything_ \- and be unable to so much as brush his hands.

Once thought he might be going slowly crazy, listening to snatches here and there, of the Separatist armies fracturing from within, of Count Dooku - disappeared - of new leaders rising and falling, eventually taken over by a figure in black, imposing and grim, who called himself Sidious.

#

Tatooine was a hot, dry, and miserable rock of a planet, Ben decided shortly after R2 brought them down at a little farmstead. He never changed his mind. He’d barely been able to haul himself out of the fighter, upon first arriving. The medics had - well, he never knew exactly what they’d done to him, but he would have fallen to the sand had not a man rushed out of the little farmstead to catch him.

R2, as it turned out, had brought him to Owen Lars and his wife, Beru. They were kind folk, who didn’t leave him outside to die under the cruel suns. They brought him inside, put him on a cot, and tended to him until the chemicals passed from his system.

Along the way, they asked who he was. Ben had turned out to be an inadequate answer, if the look Beru shot to Owen was any indication. “Ben what?” Owen had asked, bringing him a glass of something cool and wet that definitely wasn’t water.

Ben had no last name. Even his first name was just a construct. His mind felt itchy around the edges and his bones hurt. He shook his head, and said, for a lack of any better options, “Skywalker.” The answer earned Owen another sharp look from Beru. 

She looked down at Ben, wiping at his head with a cool cloth. “Skywalker? Are you Anakin’s…?” She gestured, tinging pinkly around her hairline.

He had no idea what she was asking, and was losing the fight with consciousness. “Yes,” he said, because it seemed the safest bet. Anakin had been his General, anyway. And his… It made sense, in the moment of delirium. 

“Oh,” she said, “we didn’t know Anakin had… found someone.”

“The droid did say Anakin sent him here for safe-keeping,” Owen said, from somewhere far away, and Ben closed his eyes, and slept for a long time. When he woke, they fed him, and clothed him, and he realized, at some point, that they had no better idea why he’d been sent to Tatooine than he did. They _did_ know plenty about Anakin, things Ben had never been told.

He and Anakin had never spoken much of Anakin’s past.From Beru and Owen, Ben learned the circumstances of his birth and the exact story behind his journey away from Tatooine. From them, he learned about Shmi’s death. He learned much and more, and came to realize that R2 had been right. There really _was_ no way Anakin would come back to this world.

They’d covered the fighter as best they could - better not to leave it visible to Sand People, they said - and brought R2 into their home.

R2 gave Ben the answers he was looking for, about what had happened on Dathomir. R2 warbled sadly afterwards, when Ben sat staring at him, feeling nothing but cold, even in Tatooine’s terrible heat. He’d never thought much about where he came from, it had always felt pointless. He wondered, now, if he hadn’t been _made_ to find it pointless.

Dooku had created him, and all his brothers, for some reason. Ben couldn’t imagine it was with the intention of doing a kindness for the Republic. And Ahsoka had found out, had told Anakin, and he had… 

Sent Ben away. Ben remembered their last conversation only in bits and pieces, but he recalled clearly the press of Anakin’s mouth to the top of his head, a wave of deep, fierce emotion filling him up. By rights, Ben should be under questioning. Perhaps very… unkind questioning.

Instead, he rebuilt his strength on the Lars farmstead, helping out where he could, and trying to decide what to do. He could turn himself in, but that seemed… less than useful to anyone. He didn’t _know_ anything to tell the Republic. They’d only lock him up. Better that he remain free. Left on his own, he could work to get answers.

He could find out _why_ Dooku had ordered his brothers made. He spent his days assisting on the farmstead and looking for information about Dooku. There wasn’t much to be had on Tatooine, but Ben got the feeling there wasn’t much to be had _anywhere_. By all appearances, the Count had gone to ground. Some people thought he’d died over Sullust, but that felt too easy to Ben. 

Still, there was no word of him, until Ben heard a brief rumor while slipping through the filthy bars of Mos Eisley one night. The rumor turned into more solid information with the application of the Force, and all at once, Ben had the barest hints of a lead, after months of _nothing_.

R2 complained at him - he was getting better at understanding the droid - about the idea of leaving. He got the distinct impression R2 thought he was the boss in their relationship and saw Ben as some kind of wayward chick that needed constant tending. Droids could be strange, but it wasn’t difficult to convince R2 that they’d remained on Tatooine long enough.

He was, apparently, tired of getting sand into his inner workings, as well. Beru hugged Ben, when he broke the news to them of his leaving. He told them he was going to find Anakin; it seemed much easier than explaining everything else. If they’d ever found out what he was, they’d never mentioned it. He felt grateful to them, for that, for so many things, clasping Owen’s hand, aware he owed a debt he didn’t know how to pay.

He’d figure it out, as soon as he figured out, exactly, why he’d been created, and made Dooku pay for it.

#

Mace’s first instinct, when Yoda contacted him regarding Skywalker, sharing all that happened with the boy and asking for aid, had been to refuse. He’d never been fond of Skywalker, who was entirely too angry, too prideful, too _everything_ to serve as a Jedi, and always had been.

Mace rarely had glimpses of the future, the way Yoda did. That wasn’t the way his connection to the Force had developed. But everytime he looked at the boy, he got a sense of foreboding distress, of great calamity, centered directly over Skywalker’s head. Yoda had ever argued that, just because he was at the center of a calamity, it did not mean he would cause it.

The Force was seldom so clear as that. For all they knew, he would be the linchpin to _halting_ the calamity.

The line of reasoning had never been enough of a comfort to Mace. And so it was on his tongue to refuse, if for no other reason than his doubt in his effectiveness. He and Skywalker failed to get along, and always had. Such a relationship would make it more difficult for him to provide adequate instruction, to teach control.

He put off the decision; there was so much to do, with the discovery of the origin of the Type 2s. He’d been contacted by the Senate, requesting the transfer of _his_ clone. It was deeply unfortunate that Whispers had managed to slip from his meeting with Mace when the message came through, however, or so went the message Mace sent back to Coruscant, anyway.

Perhaps he would have refused Yoda, had not he spoken to Depa about it. His old Padawan shook her head at him, a rare smile crossing her mouth as he listed Skywalker’s flaws. “He doesn’t sound like anyone I’ve ever known,” she said, when he was finished, arching an eyebrow, and adding, pointedly, “Certainly not my old Master.”

And so he agreed, because he had never turned aside from a challenge and because, perhaps, he wanted to prove to her that she was incorrect, that Skywalker resembled him in no way, that the methods which had helped him channel _his_ anger would not work in this case.

Skywalker, when he appeared in front of Mace’s quarters, hardly appeared the same person, in any case. There was a cautiousness to him that Mace had never known him to have before, the start of some iron grip of control, closing tight around his emotions. Skywalker even managed to incline his head, a bit, when he said, “Master. Thank you for agreeing to assist me.”

And so Mace did not say that he hoped neither of them would regret it. He only took a breath, and said, “We’ll begin at once. I don’t know how much time we’ll have.”

The war didn’t slow down out of consideration for their training. They worked around battles and deployments, meeting when they could over the coming months. He expected, partially, that Skywalker would simply stop showing up. But he returned, determined, each time. He seemed surprised, at first, that much of their instruction took place in the sparring rooms, but Mace had always taught through physical instruction. It just seemed… obvious to him.

Things went poorly, at first. Skywalker had too much difficulty focusing, he wouldn’t just _listen_ , he ended up panting on the ground, lightsaber knocked away, and Mace sighed, disappointed but not surprised, feeling anger rising up in Skywalker. “What?” he asked, when the boy glared up at him, briefly, before looking to the side, jaw clenching shut.

“Nothing, Master,” Skywalker said, calling his saber back to hand, visibly swallowing words.

Mace frowned at him. He’d known this was a mistake. “I can’t train you if you lie to me.”

Skywalker opened his mouth, shut it again, and took a breath. When he spoke, he was glaring somewhere across the room. “It seems to me, Master, that you also can’t train me if you want me to fail.”

“I…” Mace hesitated. He demanded the truth from his students. Lying in return would be in poor form. There _was_ a part of him that shied away from the thought of Skywalker mastering Vaapad. So few had. But to feel possessive of it was a failing, and he knew that. He sought to center himself. “Why do you want this training?”

It was a question he kept coming back to. For so long, Skywalker had seemed disdainful of what they had to teach him. He’d barely sat still through Qui-Gon’s instruction, and the war had begun when he should have been moving into advanced studies. He’d been trained on battlefields, but what he had learned was hard and brutal.

In a way, such a foundation suited Vaapad well. It _could_ help channel the anger inside Skywalker’s chest. Skywalker was watching him, some conflict raging inside of him, and Mace continued, “The effort of this instruction will be terrible and costly, for both you and I. So. Before we continue, why do you want it?”

“I need it,” Skywalker said, voice raw, expression suddenly naked. Shockingly so. There was fear, in his eyes, there and gone. It was a child’s expression, lost on a scarred face so used to scowls. Skywalker blinked rapidly and looked to the side. “I need the control, Master. I’ll do whatever is necessary.”

That much, Mace could sense on his own. He nodded, finally, though Skywalker was not looking at him. There had not been a _right_ answer, but Skywalker’s satisfied.

In any case, there was a satisfaction to be found in teaching a willing pupil, one intent on learning with an almost terrible drive. He had taught very few the lightsaber techniques he used; they were difficult and required both control and awful power. The power Skywalker had in plenty. The control was learned with the forms. Mace waited for Skywalker to falter in it, but he pushed on doggedly, learning control of his impulses, to channel them, to _use_ them instead of allowing them to use him.

It was more progress than Mace had thought Anakin would ever make, especially scattered as the training was. Mace wouldn’t consider Anakin a master of the techniques by the time his new cruiser was completed, but they could continue to refine it, and he did not have to force down a surge of unease when he took Anakin’s hand before he left for the _Peacemaker_.

Anakin gripped his hand, meeting Mace’s gaze evenly when he said, “Thank you, Master.” And cataclysm still swirled over and around him, portents of doom and destruction. Mace could only hope he was not to be the instrument of the grim dread that followed him, every step of the way into his transport.

Hope was all they had left. Mace held onto it, shaking his head and turning away. He had a bad feeling about Skywalker’s first mission. The trip to Zygerria left him with an ill feeling, but, then, so did many of their missions. They could only do the best they could, and hope to the Force that it would be enough.

#

It was strange, to step back out into the galaxy and find so much changed, Ben found. He had to go in disguise, most of the time. He and his brothers were all, technically, wanted by the GAR. So was Count Dooku, to no one’s surprise. What _was_ surprising was that the Separatists were, also, apparently after Dooku, when they weren’t claiming he was dead.

He’d gone to ground, in the aftermath of the battle on Dathomir, both he and his apprentice all but vanishing. Ben followed the rumors he heard on Tatooine, driven by a terrible need to know _why_ he’d been made, what the point of it all had been. 

He found, during his hunt, that Dooku kept showing up to planets where Anakin was supposed to be or had briefly been. He wasn’t sure why Dooku appeared to be tracking Anakin, but surely it couldn’t be for any good reason. Ben would need to get to Dooku first, make sure his foul plans couldn’t come to fruition.

He didn’t know how Anakin felt about him, anymore. He had no idea where they stood. Anakin had said Ben was terribly important to him, and sent Ben away, after the revelation of his origins, and kissed his head, gently. Long nights on Tatooine left Ben with plenty of time to consider all of it, picking at his memories endlessly. He was fairly sure he knew how Anakin had felt about him before he left the _Resolute_.

But things could change so quickly. The _Resolute_ had been destroyed. It had been months. Anakin could be unhappy to see him, could have decided letting him go was a mistake…

Better, probably, to avoid Anakin if possible. Besides, he’d only be distracting. He was distracting even when he wasn’t around. Ben set thoughts of him to the side, with difficulty. Thinking of Anakin always left an ache inside him. He wasn’t sure how Anakin felt about him, but months of time on Tatooine had clarified _Ben’s_ feelings, if nothing else.

He missed Anakin, so terribly. He swallowed, looking back at the reports he’d carefully gathered. He had no idea _why_ Anakin would be going to Zygerria, but it certainly seemed that he was, along with Ahsoka and Rex. Ben was going to beat him there - he’d stayed in the Outer Rim, even after leaving Tatooine - and, with luck, he’d be ready to snag Dooku, if the Count followed after Anakin, the way Ben thought he would.

Passing unnoticed on Zygerria promised to be a fresh challenge. He couldn’t pass for Zygerrian, by any stretch of the imagination, and the Zygerrians had little… kind use for outsiders. Well. They had plenty of slaves, more and more, recently, as they worked with this new leader of the Separatists that Ben had heard about.

He could make it work.

#

Yoda had spent too many of his years at the Temple. He became more and more aware of the fact, the longer he spent outside of those ancient walls. He had missed changes to the galaxy, hearing only reports, monitoring only the living flow of the Force.

On Coruscant, things had seemed so unclear. Every choice had felt impossible to make, for they had no _good_ information. The Force had grown murky in the past decade; or perhaps it had always felt murky. The Council had debated endlessly on subjects of the war, their role in the Senate, Skywalker….

Everything felt sharper, drawn into better focus, on the bridge of the _Fallen Star_. Yoda caught glimpses of the future out of the corners of his eyes through his waking moments, more and more often as the days had slipped to weeks. 

Very little of what he saw was comforting.

He caught flashes of the Temple, walls splattered with blood, bodies strewn everywhere. He saw the Senate, full of madness and shadow. He saw a dark figure, cloaked in the Force, hidden even when Yoda stared directly at him. 

Signs and portents followed him, more than he had known for long decades, and he didn’t have the time to interpret them. The war dragged at him, sapping his energy. He felt old, truly old, after each battle. The Force had sustained him, but now he was using it, and it took from him what it had once given.

His chest hurt, terribly, most nights. The medics had tried to assist, but there were some ills they could not fix. Age could not be turned back. His body hurt. He felt tired. And it would all be worse, he knew, were it not for whatever Once was doing, down in the cells.

They did not speak of it. They couldn’t. Yoda no longer knew who to trust, beyond his Commander and a clone who had been created by his old apprentice, who bolstered him, somehow, sitting down in a cell, going slowly mad. Yoda could feel it happening, but could do so little about it.

The Type 2s had been created by a Sith Lord. It seemed… unlikely that they did not have some Dark purpose, as yet unseen. And Yoda no longer trusted the providence of the Type 1s. Their creation had always been suspicious. The discovery of the chips in their heads, all else Cody and Once had found, raised increased concerns.

Yoda searched for answers, when he could, when he was not fighting or recovering. 

#

Anakin loathed slavers with every ounce of his being. Having to walk among them, having to pretend to _be_ one, leading around his apprentice like some kind of _thing_ , was a sore test of his control over the anger inside his chest. He was - not pleased, he could never be happy while on a world like Zygerria - relieved, to find that he could keep it restrained, even through the disgusting audience with Queen Scintel.

Being forced to _give_ Ahsoka to the Queen left prickles of heat through his mind, and he channeled them out, breathing through them, winging a thought of thanks off towards Master Windu. They’d never find the missing colonists if Anakin carved the Queen in half, or… Well. Maybe they would. But it would certainly be messy.

And Anakin really believed the mission might play out without too much trouble, as the Queen smiled at him and paraded him around. He’d already gotten in her good graces. Surely it wouldn’t be that much harder to prise the information out of her. He thought it would all be relatively simple, right up until he caught a flash of copper while walking down the street, and snapped his head to look.

It was an automatic response. He’d done it countless times, since he sent R2 off with Ben. His subconscious was always _looking_ , always hoping, even though it was always someone else.

Except, it _wasn’t_ someone else. He’d know Ben anywhere, including in the street of some shitty market on this terrible world, where he was dressed as a _slave_ and some Zygerrian was leaning too close, fingers on the collar at Ben’s throat, saying, “--your master, we can discuss a price.”

Anakin changed direction without thinking about it; he didn’t remember crossing the space. He vaguely heard the Queen making a questioning sound behind him, but it didn’t really matter. He was going to need to have a _long_ talk with R2 about what constituted _taking someone to safety_. But first, the Zygerrian was glancing over as Anakin strode up.

Anakin flashed his teeth, it wasn’t a smile, and loomed a little closer. He glanced at Ben, it could only be a glance; if he looked longer, he was never going to stop. Ben looked surprised to see him, eyes wide. He didn’t look in bad shape, which settled some of the electricity in Anakin’s bones.

“Sorry,” Anakin said, reaching out to put a proprietary hand on Ben’s back, drawing him away from the Zygerrian. Touching Ben’s sunwarm skin was probably a mistake. It hit him, under his ribs. Force, but he _wanted_. “He isn’t for sale.” He was going to find whoever had put this collar on Ben’s throat and… Make them see the error of their ways.

The Zygerrian looked Anakin up and down, glanced at Ben, and sighed. “A pity,” he said. “If you change your mind--”

“I won’t,” Anakin said, staring, unblinking, until the Zygerrian turned and walked away. And he was left standing, a hand on Ben, in the middle of a market, _feeling_ the Queen staring as she swept up. He hadn’t thought any of this through.

“Well, well,” she said, voice a purr, “aren’t you just endlessly interesting. What was that about?”

Anakin glanced back at her. He was supposed to be enraptured with her presence. “Nothing. Just a small property dispute.” The words tasted like ash in his mouth. He cut a look at Ben, staring at him still. “Return to the ship after you’ve handled my purchases.”

“Oh, don’t send him away,” the Queen said, looking Ben over in a way that made the hair on Anakin’s neck stand up. “I can see you’d prefer him close.” She gestured at the guards behind them, a brief, laconic movement of her hand. “See that he is escorted to the chambers of my new friend. Now… Shall we resume our tour?”

Anakin watched guards close in around Ben. He knew he was looking too much, but it had been months since he’d seen Ben, months when he hadn’t been sure if Ben were alive or dead. He’d missed the blue of his eyes, the fall of his hair, the cream of his skin….

“Are you coming?” the Queen asked, something sharp seeping across through the Force, and Anakin swallowed. 

“Of course,” he said. So much for the mission going off without a hitch.

#

Nothing had gone right since they put Once in that kriffing cell, but there was nothing Cody could do about it. Breaking him out would be temporarily satisfying, but then they’d both just be fugitives. Cody couldn’t argue that the idea didn’t appeal, some days more than others.

But he obeyed his orders, despite the way they scratched at the inside of his skin, the sense of wrongness every time he walked past and saw Once meditating, quietly, on his cot. He watched Once waste away, growing paler, thinner, wilder around the eyes, as the months passed. He couldn’t even offer comfort, really.

It left him tense, strung tight. Stress levels across the ship were poor, he knew that. But there was little he could do about it. Morale was unlikely to improve, especially as they faced an increasingly erratic and brutal enemy. The Separatists _should_ have been on the ropes; they’d lost too many war leaders, no one had even really _seen_ Dooku since Dathomir…

Somehow, the Separatists had only become more vicious as their forces were depleted. They had to know they couldn’t win. They seemed content with causing as much bloodshed as possible, before they were wiped out.

Cody’s thoughts were full of dread, all through every day and all through every night, and so he flinched, a bit, when three troopers sat down around him in the mess. He glanced up at Longshot, directly across from him, and said, “Trooper?”

“Commander,” Longshot said, cutting a look around the room. “We need to talk to you about something.” Cody looked at them all, one after another. He didn’t need the Force to see that they were upset. It had been about time for something else to go wrong. He nodded, and led them to a quieter room.

“Alright,” he said, closing the door behind them and feeling a headache already building at the back of his neck. “What’s going on, troopers?”

They exchanged a glance with each other, and then Longshot stepped forward. “Sir, you know we’ve had headaches, for a long time. Since…” He gestured at his head. Since Once had connected them. Cody nodded. “Well, well, since the medics couldn’t help us, we eventually, you know, decided we should help ourselves.”

Cody felt an itching chill between his shoulders. “What?”

Longshot took a pad from one of the other troopers, handing it out to Cody. “We did some scans, sir, sort of on our own. And we found, well, look.” Cody didn’t have to look to know what they’d found. He did, anyway, looking over scans of the damned chip, in each of their heads.

“We didn’t know what it was, at first,” Longshot continued. “But it’s some kind of computer chip, and--”

“I know,” Cody interrupted, gently as he could. He heard Longshot’s jaw snap shut.

“You know, sir?” Tags asked, after a moment. 

Cody jerked a nod, rubbing a hand over his face, watching them exchange a look with one another. Longshot cleared his throat, “Why didn’t you tell us, sir?”

Cody grimaced. “Because I also know if you try to have them taken out, the medics will put one in again. And that they’re tied to control codes they put in us back on Kamino. And that someone in the Senate _has_ those codes. It wasn’t safe for you to know.”

Longshot glanced at his brothers again. He said, “We figured out some of that. Onezero is really good with tech, sir. I think… we might also know some things you don’t.”

Something moved inside Cody. He wasn’t sure if it was hope or dread. He asked, wary, “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

“Well,” Onezero said, shifting a bit. He’d been a shiny, back in the caves. Now he looked as rugged and tired as the rest of them. “Well, the code can be corrupted, sir. Ours has been. Your’s, too, probably. Everyone in the caves. That’s why we get the headaches.”

Cody decided not to mention that his had been taken and replaced. It seemed immaterial, in the moment. “Corrupted how?”

“That depends,” Onezero said, glancing over at Longshot. “Once did it with the Force, but we think he just… broke them a bit. I’m _pretty_ sure I couldn’t rewrite them or break them the way he did. But I might, uh, be able to scramble it, sir. Make the coding useless.”

Cody held his breath, waiting for the universe to snatch this moment away. He shivered down his back. “How? What would you need to do?”

Onezero flashed him a smile, small, nervous. “I’d need access to the mainframe,” he said. “To the central processor that would issue commands to the smaller relays in…” He trailed off, when Cody stared at him. “Wherever the orders come from, sir. I’d need to get there, and I’d need some time alone with the system.”

“Alright,” Cody said, looking to the side, considering. “Alright, well, we’ll make sure you get that.”

#

Anakin barely managed to concentrate throughout the rest of the day. It was all just noise, play-acting, a distraction. It was a relief when he was finally dismissed by the Queen to prepare for a meal. “Have fun,” she said, with a smile that showed the pointed tips of her teeth, and a hungry look.

His thoughts raced all the way back to his assigned guest quarters. He knew the rooms were bugged, he wasn’t a fool. He had a… fairly good idea of what she expected him to do, with Ben. Certainly, they wouldn’t be able to clearly discuss what the kriff Ben was doing here….

He didn’t allow himself to hesitate outside the door, waving a hand over the controls and striding in, anticipation and worry twining around one another in his guts. The room was full of golden light, pouring in through a large window along one wall. The furnishings were all beautiful, he had no doubt, but he barely saw them.

Ben was standing in front of the window, turning as Anakin entered the room, and he was like every dream Anakin had been gifted with for the long stretch of time since Dathomir. Except that in none of Anakin’s dreams had there been a collar around his neck. 

He needed to say something. For the benefit of the listening devices - he was fairly sure there were cameras, too - if nothing else. He cleared his throat. “I don’t have much time. The meal will be served soon.” He took a step forward, and then another, and momentum built in his bones, drawing him in.

Ben stared at him, watching with each step. He said, “Of course,” quietly, and then Anakin was _there_ , close enough to touch him, in the space where he most wanted to be with each breath. He leaned down, curling an arm around Ben.

He felt the little jolt that went through Ben as Anakin bent and rasped, against his ear, “They’re listening to everything. Watching, too.” Ben shivered, and, oh, but he’d always liked it when Anakin nuzzled against his jaw, the sense memory of it slid down Anakin’s spine, into his stomach, unfurling hot and fast. “They think I’m here to…” He shifted, pressing closer to Ben, curling so his shoulders blocked them more completely.

Ben nodded, arms coming up around Anakin, and Anakin _knew_ it was necessary, a part of the strange charade they’d found themselves in, but it was all he’d wanted for so long. Even before he’d sent Ben away to safety, it had been so long since they’d been in a place where he could brush a kiss against Ben’s jaw.

He resisted, in the moment, asking, quietly, as he walked Ben back through the room, “Are you alright?”

The bed was huge and plush, so much finer than any bed they’d ever shared. Anakin could imagine tangling together in the sheets, far too easily. His body was giving away all his secrets, but he couldn’t do anything about that. Any strange behavior might put suspicion on Ben, on their mission.

So he didn’t hesitate when they reached the mattress, sliding his hands to lift Ben, who grabbed at his shoulders, the position shifting them, putting Ben’s mouth near his ear as Anakin crawled onto the bed, sinking into the mattress, _wanting_. “I’m fine,” he said, and hearing his voice was a sweet torture.

Anakin dumped him down to the mattress, had to stare at him for a moment, skin flushed, eyes dark, and at least some part of Ben wanted this, too. The gauzy wisps of nothing they’d clothed him in did little to disguise _that_. 

Anakin jerked out of his overshirt, casting it aside. They had to be realistic, but not… not too realistic, he had to remember, curling down and narrowly avoiding kissing Ben’s mouth the way he wanted to, needed to. It was so hard to remember. Their bodies remembered too well all the stolen moments they’d had together, he couldn’t stop his hips from shifting, from grinding down when Ben drew a leg up, inviting him closer.

Anakin panted, holding onto his fraying control with clumsy fingers, nuzzling back against Ben’s jaw, feeling him arch up, Force. “What are you doing here?” he managed to ask, needing something else to focus on, before this got even more out of control. 

He shifted, as though just to pull more fabric out of the way - Force he wanted _all_ this fabric out of the way - bringing his ear close to Ben’s mouth, close enough for him to rasp, “I - I - I tracked Dooku, here. He’s been following you. I wanted to - to capture him.”

Anakin froze, all his hungry wants temporarily derailed, and only remembered that they were being watched after a moment. He was going to get them both in trouble. More trouble than they were already in. He shifted back into motion, growling, louder, for their audience, “Watch your hands,” and grabbing at Ben’s wrists, pushing them down into the mattress.

He braced for a wash of fear. He’d been waiting for it, since he saw Ben in the street. Fear wasn’t the emotion that buffeted at him through Ben’s skin as his breath stuttered out against Anakin’s mouth. Ben’s hips jerked up against him, his want creeping into Anakin’s skin, everywhere they touched. Ben arched his neck up, stretching just far enough that Anakin could _feel_ his mouth, a few atoms of air separating them.

And this had been for show, it had been, to protect Ben, to protect the mission, but Anakin wasn’t sure that it was anymore. Not when he groaned and shifted down just enough to kiss Ben, softly, for an instant, before Ben made a hungry sound, and Anakin was kissing him properly, desperately, grip tightening when Ben tried to tug his arms downward.

It felt so good to move against him, even with a few layers of fabric still in the way, Force, but Anakin had missed him so much. He shifted, needing to get a hand in Ben’s hair, to tilt his head and kiss him hard and deep, needing to slide his other hand down, between them, needing to touch, wanting, more than anything else, to see Ben sprawled out, wide-eyed and relaxed and sated again--

He swore, fiercely, at the sound of the door opening, and snapped, “Go away!”

“I’m so sorry to interrupt your recreational time,” the Queen said, not sounding sorry at all. Anakin could feel _her_ interest through the Force, knew she was looking at them, her gaze slid across his skin like a physical touch. He was glad he’d curled over Ben, blocking him almost entirely. “But something has happened that I’m sure you’ll be interested to see.”

Anakin had his fingers tangled in Ben’s hair. He was pressed so close. Even the unwelcome interruption had done nothing to dampen the heat in his veins. He didn’t _want_ to move. He said, glancing sideways at the Queen, “Your majesty, could it wait?”

She smiled, her eyes dark as they slid away from his face. “Mm, I’m afraid not.” She shifted, tossing something towards the bed. A set of cuffs. They landed by Anakin’s hip. “You can leave him right there,” she said. “Return to this when we’re done.”

Anakin swallowed, shifting up. “That’s alright,” he said, clearing his throat, though it did little to disguise the hoarseness of his voice. Nothing was going to disguise the state of his body. He buried a shudder, grabbing his clothes and shrugging back into them, working to stay unhurried. It wouldn’t do to seem dismayed by her interest. “He’ll wait for me.” He glanced back at Ben, mouth reddened, skin flushed, and asked, “Won’t you?"

“Of course,” Ben rasped, remembering to drop his eyes after a moment, and Anakin stood, offering an arm out to the Queen.

And, for a few minutes, he really thought that he’d end up right back there, with Ben. That was before the Queen led him to some kind of public punishment. That was before he found out Master Unduli and Rex had been captured. That was, in short, before everything got completely kriffed up.

#

For a moment after Anakin left, Ben just lay back on the sheets, tingling all over, aching with thwarted desire. That was… not how he’d expected his reunion with Anakin to go. His mouth tingled with the memory of Anakin’s kiss, all the want he’d felt. The need. 

At least he knew how Anakin felt about him, still. There was no anger in it at all.

He flushed, alone in the room, nerves alive with the way Anakin had moved against him. He wondered what the Zygerrians would expect him to do. Just… lie there, in his current state, until Anakin came back? The thought sounded torturous. He sat up, looking around for the wisps of fabric that passed for clothing.

He needed to focus. He wasn’t sure, entirely, when Count Dooku would arrive. He needed to be in position to _do_ something when the Count arrived, which was going to be more difficult now that Anakin had gotten him brought into the palace and ensconced in these rooms. He’d have to--

He froze, a sudden wave of alarm cresting through him. He felt it from Anakin _and_ Ahsoka, at once. Something was going wrong. Drastically wrong. He abandoned his attempts to get back into the gauzy outfit. Panic and anger were moving through the palace as a whole. 

It wasn’t difficult to come to the decision that he shouldn’t be here when the panic reached Anakin’s quarters. He swore, pulling the collar he’d doned off and tossing it aside. If everything had gone wrong, he saw no reason to continue wearing it. He had a tunic, in the bag he’d been carrying. He pulled it on, sensing a mass of guards, moving closer. 

His lightsabers were in the bag, as well. He grabbed them, sprinting across the room to the window. Zygerria was pretty enough, from this height and remove. He ignited a lightsaber and carved into the window, working quickly.

By the time the door opened, he was through the window, scrambling upwards, using the Force to cling to desperate hand and footholds. He could feel Anakin and Ahsoka, still. They were both alive, just upset. Worried.

Guards leaned out of the window below him, yelling something and winging shots in his direction. Ben grunted, jumped for a handhold a few levels above, and kept moving. He needed to help Anakin and Ahsoka, that had to be a priority, but it was pushed to the side, just a bit, as he became aware of _another_ Force signature in the area, one tinged with darkness and cruelty.

He’d been right, he realized, sparing the time for a brief, victorious grin.

Dooku _had_ come for Anakin. Ben was going to get him, first.

#

The universe must have been feeling particularly perverse, Anakin thought, in the aftermath of Master Unduli’s capture and his failed attempt at getting them all off of Zygerria. Ahsoka was currently imprisoned somewhere, Unduli and Rex had been shipped off Force knew where, and Anakin was in the Queen’s chambers.

A few hours ago, he’d been sprawled out over Ben, kissing his mouth. He should have known everything would go wrong. That was just the way his life tended to go. He scowled at the Queen, who was watching him over a cup full of some kind of liquor that smelled awful to him.

She said, finally, “Do you know, you’re of a great amount of interest to my new allies.”

“The Separatists, you mean,” he said, fighting back a wave of frustration and weariness. He’d already tried to convince her that aligning with the Separatists only made _her_ a slave. She hadn’t seemed to buy that line of logic.

“Mm,” she said, draining her glass. “Yes. They’re particularly keen that I _shouldn’t_ kill you. Doesn’t that strike you as odd? I would think they’d be ever so pleased if I gave them the head of the great General Skywalker.” She stared at him, expectantly, and he shrugged.

“Maybe they want to execute me themselves,” he said. He wouldn’t put it past them. By all accounts, this Sidious figure had pulled the Separatist armies back from the brink of dissolution through a mixture of cruelty and brute force.

“Perhaps,” she said. “Perhaps I won’t give you to them.” She tilted her head to the side. He couldn’t believe she’d be foolish enough to actually trust him as her personal guard. Then again, her emotions were all a tangle. She wanted him. It was clouding her judgement.

She’d claimed that they’d found Ben and thrown him in a cell, when she’d dragged Anakin to her quarters. He’d felt the lie of it, but let it go. Hopefully, Ben had run off-planet to somewhere safe, but Anakin doubted it. More likely, he was planning a rescue. Anakin could feel, distantly, that he was concentrating on something.

It was strange, the feeling. He knew very well he shouldn’t have it. He hadn’t been able to feel much of anything but incredibly strong emotions from Ben for… for so long. But feelings were moving between them again. Their bond still ached, but Anakin thought it was no longer shut all the way. The edges were growing back together, had been since Anakin touched him on the street, mending what had been broken.

The Queen took another step closer. She said, reaching out for him, “Perhaps I need a reason not to--”

Sudden alarms cut her off. Anakin exhaled, a bit of tension going out of his shoulders. The train of her thoughts had left him feeling soured inside. The screaming outside was almost a relief, until he felt the foul presence accompanying it, something Dark and thick, spreading out across the Force.

And Ben had _told_ him Dooku was going to be here. Anakin glanced at the Queen as the point of a red lightsaber plunged through the doors to her quarters. “What’s going on?” she demanded, stepping back, closer to him, as though still expecting him to protect her.

He said, extending a hand to her, “I think you’re about to meet someone _else_ with a great amount of interest in me. I need my weapon back.” She hesitated, and he pushed at her with the Force, because it was that or face the Sith on the other side of the door with empty hands. “You’ll give it to me _now_.”

#

Ahsoka felt Ben long before she saw him, or, at least, her gut _assumed_ it was Ben. All his brothers - and his sister - still felt the same to her. She’d never learned to distinguish between them, not in all the time they’d been out in the galaxy, fighting a war side-by-side. 

She felt guilty about it, but she didn’t think any of the _other_ Jedi could tell them apart, either. She’d met Ben, first. He was the one she thought of, sitting in a cage on some Force-forsaken rock, worried about an entire colony of her people. She knew, logically, that it could have just as likely been Katya, or even Lorn, perhaps come to help Master Unduli.

They hadn’t actually _seen_ Katya recently. No one had known what to do with the girl. She was obviously Force sensitive, just like all of her brothers, but aging at a normal rate. The fact that the Kaminoans saw no problems using children as payment made her ill, but then, it wasn’t exactly the only questionable decision they’d made.

There’d been talk of sending Katya to the Temple. That was where the other young Type 2s had gone, after all. But she was older than they were. She was used to being out in the galaxy. For a moment, Ahsoka had been queasily sure _Anakin_ would offer to train her, that she’d end up somehow pushed aside. It had seemed like a real possibility, when Anakin watched Katya.

Ahsoka had known that Anakin missed Ben, desperately. She’d felt it, like an empty space inside of _her_. And Katya looked so much like Ben, though she didn’t act much like him. They’d been raised so differently. Ahsoka had just waited, sure at any moment that Anakin would decide to re-order her entire life….

It hadn’t happened. Instead, General Plo Koon had taken the girl. He called her a “stimulating challenge” when they spoke. His Type 2 had mysteriously gotten away, after the word of their origin got out. So many of them had, scattering out to the winds, disappearing into the galaxy.

It could have been any Type 2 who ended up coming around the corner to Ahsoka’s rescue, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t Katya, or Lorn. Ahsoka’s chest gave a sharp ache as Ben leaned into her view, his skin more freckled, as though he’d gotten a lot of sun recently, and his eyes intent as he said, quietly, “Sh, I’m here to help.”

She’d hiccuped on a laugh. Even with everything that had happened, she’d never thought to doubt _that_. She should have, probably. But Ben had saved her life so many times. He’d taught her to fight in the way that felt right to her. He’d shown her meditation and peace. He pulled her out of the cage, and she should have thought about Dooku, but in that moment, she felt none of it.

She’d been so full of confusion, after learning his origins. There’d been anger, too. Betrayal. He had done things to her, taken her memories. It had taken meetings with other Generals, with captured Type 2s, for her to realize that _they didn’t know_. They hadn’t had any idea what they were doing, how they were being used.

She’d had six months to think about it, to process the emotions. The time had helped.

She threw her arms around him, squeezing tight, feeling him hesitate for a moment before he returned the embrace. “I’m so glad you’re alright,” she said, pressing her face against his shoulder. She thought for a moment he’d gotten smaller over the past months, but it was only that she’d grown.

“You, too,” he said, before pushing her back. “But you have to go. Count Dooku is here, and--”

“What?” No one had seen hide nor hair of the Count since Dathomir. He’d been a ghost. She’d half-thought he died, or hoped for it, anyway.

Ben flashed her a sharp smile, leading her along, “Yes. And I’ve heard a representative for the Separatists is on the way.”

“Where’s Anakin?” Ahsoka could feel him; he was radiating worry and tension, a faint thrum of anger. His anger felt different, these days. It was still there. She didn’t think he’d ever exist totally without it, but it felt… contained. Controlled. Structured, maybe.

“I’ll take care of Anakin,” Ben said, which wasn’t an answer. “ _You_ need to go after Rex and Master Unduli.” He pushed something into her hand, a small scanner with an image on it. “This was the best shot I could get of the ship they were loaded on, but you’re good at tracking things down.”

There was no sharp tinge to the words, only a sort of fond pride. Ahsoka flushed, anyway. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, anymore, from the revelation of the creation of the Type 2s. Not for them to be imprisoned, even when it became obvious they didn’t know anything, not for bounties to be put on their heads, not for some to be killed for - for resisting, apparently.

“Ben,” she said, reaching out and grabbing his arm, “I’m sorry.”

He froze under her touch, then shook his head. “We needed to know, Ahsoka,” he said, squeezing her shoulder. “You shouldn’t be sorry for doing what needed done. Now, go find them.”

“I should go after Anakin,” she said, because it was her job. She was his Padawan. “You can--”

“Not this time.” Ben turned his head, looking down the hallway, eyes narrowing. He felt _larger_ in the Force, all at once. She’d missed the way it felt when he did that, the extra charge that seemed to come off of him, bleeding into the surrounding air. She wondered what it felt like inside him.

“Why?”

He looked back, eyes sharp and a small smile on his mouth. “Because there’s a Sith up there, and I can hold him until you bring back Master Unduli and Rex. Go.” He took a step and turned, saying over his shoulder, “may the Force be with you.”

“And with you,” she said, quietly, watching him disappear down the hall, giving herself one click to gather strength, and then raising her head. “Alright,” she said, to no one. “Let’s do this, then.”

#

Ben took longer to get to Anakin than he wanted, but it took effort to move towards him. He’d done his best to disguise it around Ahsoka, but something was, frankly, wrong with him. It was difficult even to think about what he was doing, to remember that Dooku was on the planet, much less in the palace, much less _with Anakin_.

It had to be something about the way he was made. His mind was not always his own. R2 had told him, eventually, about the missing memories on the _Resolute_. Paired with his difficulties on the trip to Dathomir…. 

Well. Ben wasn’t a fool. He could put two and two together. There were things that his mind couldn’t focus on. He felt ill, forcing his way through the block. It was difficult, it required him to draw on his brothers, reaching for more and more from them to keep his mind clear.

He tasted salt in the back of his throat, something copper-sharp, and ignored that, too. Dooku had been looking for Anakin. Ben couldn’t imagine that he wanted something pleasant. He shook his head, dispelling another wave of distraction, and moving onward.

No guards stood in his way. Someone had already cleared the halls. Someone wielding a lightsaber. Ben heard them as he approached. Anakin was still alive. He didn’t feel _hurt_ , which was something. Dooku’s voice was a low rumble as Ben finally got close enough to distinguish words, listening to the Sith say, “--know what he wants with you, boy.”

Anakin made a sharp sound, snorting. “And you expect I should just believe you, is that it?”

“I believe,” Dooku said, voice sly, “that you can sense that I am not lying to you.”

Ben slowed his steps as he approached, and not just because of the ache in his head. The odds of sneaking up on two Force users were low. But it was worth a try. He slipped forward, lightsabers in hand but unlit, wrapping quiet around his body.

“Even if you’re telling the truth,” Anakin said, “I’d be a fool to believe you were telling me this for my sake.” Anakin sounded tense, angry. Ben wondered what he’d been told that had left him feeling so distraught. “So what’s in this for _you_?”

“That’s close enough, clone,” Dooku said, as Ben edged another step forward. “I feel you there.”

Well, he’d known his odds of sneaking in were incredibly low. He moved forward, ignoring Dooku’s brief glare, taking in the tableau in the Queen’s chambers. The Queen herself was pressed against the far wall, not looking nearly so pleased with herself as she had been last time Ben saw her. Anakin stood between her at the Sith. He flashed Dooku a smile and thumbed his sabers on.

Dooku raised an eyebrow, and said, “Impressive. I was told your programming wouldn’t let you come anywhere near me.” He smiled, just a bit, a sharp slash of his mouth. “But I should have known you would find a way past that.”

“Oh?” Ben asked. It cost him. He leaned more on his brothers. “Why’s that?”

"Kenobi was always my favorite," he said, the words thrown out like they meant nothing. "Of all my proteges and all their proteges, he was always the one with the most promise.”

Ben swallowed the bitter taste that had flooded into his mouth. Of course, it all came back to Obi-Wan. His entire life kept coming back to Obi-Wan. “Is that why you had us created?” he asked, shifting his position in the room, aware of Anakin doing the same, “because Obi-Wan Kenobi was your - your favorite?”

Dooku shrugged. He looked... bored, standing there in his long cape and gazing down the length of his nose, like Ben was nothing but some insect that could be stepped on at any time, without costing him more than a second's thought. “He was the sensible choice,” Dooku said.

“The sensible choice?” Ben resisted the urge to look over at Anakin. He knew taking his attention off a Sith lord would be a mistake. “The sensible choice for what? Why clone anyone in the first place?”

Dooku sighed. He sounded put-upon. “As I was explaining to Skywalker before you interrupted,” he said. “I did it because it had to be done. I needed a sword. I picked him to serve as my weapon for the sake of the galaxy.”

Ben laughed, the sound punching out of him. “You’re not trying to save the galaxy,” he said. “Have you not been paying attention?”

“He says,” Anakin cut in, faintly vibrating with restrained energy, “he says that he fell to the Dark side long before we realized it. That he thought it was a necessary decision. Until, what did you tell me, Count, that you found out what your Master _really_ planned.”

“Your Master?” Ben’s headache was getting worse. He wanted to turn around and walk out of the room. He resisted the urge.

“Mm.” Dooku inclined his head. “Yes. You have seen him, now. Darth Sidious, who has taken my place and hunts me, since your troublesome padawan revealed my plans too early. He will find me, sooner or later. So, I have come to you.”

“For protection?” Anakin asked, a snarl curling his lip. “What, your little power grab didn’t work and _now_ you want our help?”

“I do desire not to be murdered,” Dooku said, dark gaze following Anakin. “But any agreement we came to would benefit us both. I know what Sidious plans for you, boy. For the entirety of the galaxy.”

“But you’re--you’re a Sith _too_ , what do you care what Sidious does?” Ben gritted out. 

Dooku shrugged, he sounded put upon when he spoke again. “You must understand, the Sith do not share some overarching desire. I thought, for a time, that Sidious and I shared a plan for the galaxy. But we do not. He intended to burn it all down. All of it. And me with it. I am not young and pliable enough for him. Not powerful enough. I am not the one he wants ruling at his side.” He turned his head, then, gaze settling back on Anakin.

Revulsion rippled through Ben’s gut, up into his chest. He said, the thought of Anakin serving at the whim of some Dark lord a terrible weight, “No.” 

“Oh, yes,” Dooku said, smiling cruelly. “He has been planning it for over a decade. Feeding the darkness inside of young Skywalker. Encouraging his anger. His fear. His hatred. Have you not felt it, boy?”

Ben looked at Anakin when he didn’t answer immediately. He looked… grim. And not surprised. “I’ve felt it,” Anakin said, gutted, cutting a look at Ben and there was so much in his gaze, grief and guilt, all curled together. His cheek twitched. “But I found the bond. I destroyed it.”

Dooku arched an eyebrow. “Did you? No wonder he has changed his plans so drastically. You must have thrown so much into chaos. But it won’t be enough. He’s planned for this for decades. For longer than you’ve been alive, boy. He has contingencies for _everything_. He will find another way to bring you to his side. My spanner in the works,” he gestured at Ben, “has been defanged, thanks to you. Our only chance lies now in disrupting what remains of his plans.”

And he ignited his bloody red lightsaber.

Anakin barked a laugh. “Really? What’s your plan? Killing me so he can’t get me?”

“It wasn’t my first plan,” Dooku said, with a little shrug of his shoulders. “But needs must. You’re just too dangerous to stay alive.”

“You can’t hope to beat us both,” Anakin said, spinning his saber up into a guard Ben didn’t recognize. 

“Perhaps not,” Dooku said. “But I won’t be fighting you both. Do you _really_ think I would have created a secret weapon that could be used against me?” He stretched out his free hand, snapped his fingers, and Ben--

#

Ben dropped, like a doll discarded by an uncareful hand. He just _fell_ , with no attempt to arrest the collapse, to gentle the impact. He went still and quiet, and Anakin cried out, jerking a step forward, brought up short when the Count leapt at him, lightsaber spinning.

Muscle memory brought Anakin’s saber up in a guard. The Count grimaced at him through the flashing of their sabers, expression hellishly lit with red light as they spun around the room. “I beat you before,” Dooku said, thick and smug, “when you had two hands and your Master beside you.”

Anakin’s anger thrummed, but he’d _learned_. Master Windu’s training might have been near impossible, but it was also, if nothing else, effective. He redirected his emotional core into the blows of his saber, feeling Dooku’s anger moving through their dance in the Force, creating a closed circuit _he_ controlled.

“I’ve learned some things since then,” Anakin said, driving the Count back a step, and another, gaining the upper hand in a flurry of blows. He watched Dooku cut a look across the room, towards Ben’s limp body, and saw a glimpse of the future, there and gone, through his mind.

He spun into Dooku’s space, driving him away, blows landing as he wished, until the Count’s saber spun away and the old man fell to one knee, panting. Anakin brought his lightsaber around, holding it near the Count’s throat, breathing hard from the exertion.

“Do it, then,” Dooku sneered up at him, through his bloody teeth. He tilted his chin up, and Anakin breathed out the anger in his chest, the curling heat of it moving through his mind and soul, out through the Force.

He bared his teeth and said, “Not today, I’m afraid. You’re going--”

Anakin heard the whine of a blaster charging a half-second before the shot went off. He had no time to think about what he was going to do. It was nothing but spinal instinct that made him shift, away from Dooku, saber up to block any shots at Ben, unconscious and still on the floor.

Which would have been a good idea, if the shot was _intended_ for Ben.

The Queen lowered the blaster with a little gasp as Dooku crumpled sideways. Anakin jerked the weapon out of her hand with the Force, snarling, dropping beside Dooku. The man… wasn’t quite dead. He’d jerked a bit, at the last moment, trying to stand. The blaster had caught him in the throat, instead of the head.

Anakin swore, putting a hand over the wound on his throat, but he knew a mortal injury when he saw one. “You son of a bantha,” he snapped. Of course, Dooku would manage to avoid their questioning. Of _course_.

Dooku made a wet sound, lifting a hand weakly, curling his fingers into Anakin’s robes. He tugged, but there was no strength to it. His mouth was moving, words too quiet for Anakin to hear slipping out. He bent down, considering as he did that the Count might bite him, and the man rasped, “Coruscant.”

“What about it?” Anakin demanded, frowning at him.

Dooku shook his head, blood no longer pumping so vigorously against Anakin’s fingers, and went limp, quiet and still in the Force. Across the room, he felt Ben jerk and suck in a breath, coughing, loud in the suddenly quiet room.

Anakin stood, hands wet with Dooku’s blood, thrumming with senseless energy, frustration. Anger, a bit. Always anger. He said, looking towards the Queen, but not directly at her, “What the kriff did you just do?”

Her voice shook, when she spoke. “I - I assured my position with my new allies.” Her chin went up. “He said he would prefer Dooku alive, but…” She shrugged. In the corridor, he could hear other footsteps, running towards the room. “ _You_ are needed alive, he said. I’m sorry, I don’t think you’ll be staying on Zygerria, after all.”

“Anakin?” Ben sounded not-fully awake, slurring a bit as he pushed to his feet. “What… happened?”

“Tell you about it later,” Anakin promised, backing away from the Queen, from Dooku’s body. He doubted anyone would clone _that_ kriffer. “We need to find Ahsoka, get out of here.” He put a hand on Ben’s arm.

Ben felt cold, unnaturally so. “Ahsoka’s alright,” he said. “I took care of her.” Relief unfolded throughout Anakin, fast and sweet. He’d almost forgotten how nice it was, having someone else at his side, someone else who could move through a battlefield.

“You’ll never make it off the planet alive,” the Queen said, haughty now, all traces of her hesitation fully wiped away. 

Anakin nudged Ben back a step, igniting his lightsaber preemptively, and said, flashing her a hard smile, “Watch us.”

#

Naboo was a beautiful world. Nith liked it much better than Coruscant, though he didn’t see much of it. Padmé took them to a remote villa that had, apparently, been awarded her when she ceased to be Queen. The story of her Queenship came out as they traveled, in one long discussion on her fine ship.

She’d been so young, to have so much responsibility thrust on her. Even still, the memories left her feeling tired. Her emotions grew morose as she spoke, her eyes distant with memory as she talked of blockades, of droid armies, of, finally, Obi-Wan Kenobi.

It was good to finally get answers about why she seemed so familiar with him. He could feel the muted affection she held for his progenitor. He didn’t really need to feel it. The faint blush on her cheeks gave it away, well enough.

“I know you’re not him,” she said, glancing at him as she spoke. “I-- I just. I know you’re not.”

“Good,” he said, and wondered how true it was. She didn’t feel as tense around him as those at the Temple who had known Obi-Wan did. Every thought didn’t seem tinged with regret and grief. so maybe she really _did_ realize they were different people.

He came to believe she told the truth, as they spent their time on Naboo, or perhaps he only wanted to believe. She was… intelligent and kind. Funny. Beautiful. Perhaps it was just nice to imagine she was smiling at him, not the memory of a dead man. The thoughts hurt, when he dwelled on them, so he sat them aside as much as possible.

She left, frequently, to handle Senate business, but returned always. He kept busy enough while she was away. He could research well enough on _her_ computer systems, though he worried about using her access codes.

He dug further and further into the minutiae of Senate records. The answers were there, somewhere, about why the red guards had killed his brother, about the Dark presence on Coruscant. He knew it. Someone just needed to find them.

That someone turned out to be him, after months of tireless effort.

He stood up from his work station, startled, as one file led to another, led to another, led to the answers he’d been looking for so long. He laughed aloud, punchy with success, unsure what to do with his hands, tired and exhausted by the long effort of it.

One of Padmé’s many chimes went off, then. A soft sound to indicate a door opening. Nith thought, for a moment, that it was her. But the presence he felt, turning his attention outward, wasn’t hers.

It was significantly Darker. Colder. All laughter died in his throat. He’d never really thought the assassins after him would give up. Sooner or later, he’d known they’d track him to Naboo. He leaned over the computer system again, hesitating over the commands for a heartbeat. He could be dead, in the next handful of seconds.

It was vitally important that what he knew didn’t die with him. 

He tried to consider the best person to send the information to, heart pounding in his throat, and then snorted. After all, he thought, why send it to one person? He downloaded a copy onto a pad as the messages found their way out through the ether, straightening as the presence he felt moved down the hall.

He had his lightsabers in hand by the time the figure reached the doorway.

It was a woman, thin, hollow-cheeked, with dark eyes and a shaved head. He’d seen pictures of her in records at the Temple. “Ventress,” he said, inclining his head to her, “I heard you died above Sullust.”

She glanced at him and around the room, mouth twisting into a sneer. She was wearing non-descript grey clothing. She had a lightsaber in hand, but unlit. She said, her voice a rasp, “I’m harder to kill than that.”

He nodded. “I think you’ll find _I’m_ not so easy to kill, either. You’re not the first to try.”

She looked back at him with a roll of her eyes. “I think I’ll manage,” she said, and _did_ ignite her saber, then. 

He fell into a defensive posture. “Why? I mean, who are you even working for, now? I heard Dooku died, too, and--”

“He’s alive,” she sneered, lunging forward. “But he’s not why I’m here.”

Nith parried her blows. She fought aggressively, wildly, the Force moving around her in chaotic patterns. He flowed from one parry to another. “No? Getting assassination orders from somewhere new? Perhaps a certain dark robed individual?”

She sneered at him, jerking a hand out and throwing him back. He rolled, springing back to his feet. “You talk too much,” she said, stalking forward.

And he smiled at her, because he knew things, now. So many things. He said, “I know who ordered the attack on Dathomir.”

She froze, all at once. He watched her eyes widen, before she shook herself. “Dooku ordered the attack. It was the last thing he did, to cover his--”

“No,” Nith interrupted, straightening. “He didn’t.” He raised an eyebrow. “Would you like to know who did, before you murder me?”

#

In the end, they _did_ make it off Zygerria, all of them, though most of that had to be credited to Plo Koon’s timely intervention. Ben fought beside Anakin, finding a new rhythm to match Anakin’s adjusted fighted style. He’d never seen anyone move quite so fast, and he _felt_ a thrum of anger in each movement, but it all seemed purposeful. Electric.

Ben had missed having someone at his side he could trust, and it was a relief, huge and all-encompassing, to realize that he trusted Anakin. The knowledge swelled up in him, and he knew Anakin felt it, because he hesitated for a moment, attention twitching towards Ben for a moment.

It would have been nice to fully absorb the feeling, but there was no time for it, not with Plo Koon and his troopers arriving. Ben jerked to a stop in the mouth of a hallway, the reality of their situation catching up with him all at once.

Anakin drew to a stop a step ahead of him, turning back with a burst of yearning that Ben felt, too clearly. He hadn’t been able to pick up emotions like that from Anakin for so long. They had returned with the lessening of the agony from their broken bond. He swallowed around the tightness in his throat. “I - I can’t go any further.”

Anakin looked to the side, jaw tightening. “Dooku is dead. Maybe they’ll let your brothers go, now.” He didn’t sound convinced, even as he said it. 

Ben shook his head. “You know they won’t,” he said. “There’s no way the Senate will.” He wetted his lips, shifting around. The air in the hall felt charged. His heart wouldn’t slow down. He half-extended a hand, without conscious thought. “But, Anakin, I - I wish I could.”

Anakin sucked in a breath, sharp, gaze snapping around. He took Ben’s hand, and Ben shivered at the slide of their fingers together. “Ben,” Anakin said, sounding just broken, and it felt only natural to step closer to him. “I--” Ben tilted his chin up; Anakin was already leaned down, arm curling around him, pulling him closer and _oh_.

Ben melted against him, couldn’t not, falling into it willingly, trusting that hands would catch him before he hit bottom. Voices in the corridor broke them apart. Anakin pulled back, though not far, resting his forehead against Ben’s, all his wants, sadness, regret, thrumming between them. He panted, “Go,” and kissed Ben once more, brief and hard.

Ben took a step back, aching in his ribs. “I’ll see you again,” he said, because he _would_. They would get this all sorted. They’d figure out who this Sidious really was. They’d learn what was going on. They _would_. 

Anakin stared after him, tensed like it was taking all the effort he had not to follow along. He said, “Be careful. Ben…” He flexed his hands, shifting, and Ben knew, in that moment, that he’d stay, even if it ended him up in the brig, if Anakin asked. He held his breath. “I love you.”

He could feel the truth in the words, curled all around them. He wanted to go back, put hands in Anakin’s hair, pull him down, kiss his mouth, pull him closer, take off his clothes. There were troopers almost upon them. A galaxy in peril hung between them. He swallowed, hard, and said, “I love you, too.” He turned away at the sound Anakin made, blinking rapidly, and the first few steps he took were blind.

The pain - the ache of leaving what he wanted most - didn’t really ease, as he slipped away, but he’d gotten very good at dealing with pain.


	11. Chapter 11

Nith knew there was an assassin in the room, glaring at him, but it was hard to feel too strongly about it, in all honesty. He’d figured everything out, finally. He had  _ proof _ , the proof he and Once had needed to show the galaxy exactly what had been done to Elik and who had done it. And so he smiled at Ventress, who was scowling at him.

She shook her head, asking, tone sharp edged, “Why should I care what happened to Dathomir?”

He ignored, for a beat, the fact that she obviously  _ did _ \- he felt it roiling off of her - shrugging. “I’ve seen the holos that leaked,” he said. “Of the natives, after the Separatists were through with them. You have their look. Now, do you want to know, or not?”

She frowned more deeply for a moment. He could feel the sudden confusion within her, conflict, before she shook her head fiercely. “No,” she said. “This is some kind of trick.” She took a step towards him, smooth, lightsaber humming, expression twisting into a sneer. “And I don’t have to deal with this.”

And Nith should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. He exhaled, reaching out to his brothers, preparing for a fight, and she drew a small device from her belt, slipping it onto her thumb. He readied for some kind of explosion and--

“My old Master let slip a few facts about you things, here and there,” she said, from somewhere far away. He was staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t feel his arms or his legs, couldn’t move at all. “I admit, it’s made hunting you down a bit unfair, these little failsafes he had built in.” She leaned over, into his field of vision, smiling, lit by red light, “but I’ve never worried much about being sporting.”

He was going to die, without even a fight. Without ever speaking with Padmé about the - the way she looked at him, without seeing how the galaxy took the news he’d just shared. But at least he’d sent it out. Ventress couldn’t undo that. He took a breath and held it, wanting to taste the sweet scent of the flowers outside one last time if this were to be his death.

And there was the retort of a blaster, and another, three sharply in a row. Ventress’s expression did something interesting, going soft and almost confused as she stumbled, falling to the side, the object in her palm rolling away.

Nith jerked, feeling coming back into his body, scrambling up off of the floor in time to catch a blur of movement. He looked up, bracing for an attack, and found his arms full of a familiar form. Padmé was suddenly  _ there _ , panting, “Force, Force, I thought she’d killed you, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he said, amazed to find it to be true. Padmé still had a blaster in hand. She’d shot Ventress three times in the back, he realized, a bit dazedly.

She breathed, “Thank the Force,” slim hand on his cheek as she leaned up, all at once, pressing a kiss to his mouth.

He felt her relief, hot and sharp, tinged with fear and want and a dozen other tangled emotions. She pulled back after a heartbeat, her eyes wide, cheeks reddened. “Oh,” she said, her hand still pressed to his skin, “oh, I’m sorry, I--”

Curling an arm around her felt like the only possible option to move forward. Her hair felt cool and silken against his fingers. She shivered when he pulled her closer, eyes darkening when he kissed her again.

He’d never kissed anyone before. He wondered, distantly, if it always felt so nice.

She smiled, when they shifted apart, glancing to the side and then back at him, something pleased and warm filling up her mind. Nith wanted to bask in it, just for a moment, but they didn’t have the time for it, it would have to wait. Ventress wasn’t dead, yet. He could still feel her. That needed addressed. As did what he had found.

But he kissed her once more, softly, first, and then said, “I need to show you what I’ve found.” He glanced down. “And you should call your medical droid.”

She kept a hold on his hand as she leaned over the screen, the warmth inside her tinging over to horror. “Sithspit,” she said, glancing up at him as she finished. “It’s really - we have proof now, about all of it.” She straightened, mind going sharp. “I need to get back to Coruscant, immediately. This is going to throw the Senate into madness.” She hesitated, looking down at their clasped hands. “Will you…?”

“I’ll come with you,” he said, squeezing, cautiously, just a bit, to see what it felt like. He liked the way it made  _ her  _ feel, comforted and pleased, afraid only that he might stop. “After all, someone might kill me if you’re not there to save my life. You’d make an excellent bodyguard, if you ever tire of being a Senator.”

She flashed him a smile, laughing once and shaking her head. “Come on, then. We don’t have any time to spare.”

#

The demands of handling an entire war effort on  _ both  _ sides were exhausting and ridiculous. Setting up the pieces to knock them down had lost its appeal some months ago, for Palpatine. But he’d worked on his plans for too long to rush, so close to the end. He was getting things back on track, as he’d known he’d be able to do, even if living two lives wore him thin.

He sighed, waking from a deep, sound sleep. His schedule for the day was only dealing with the tiresome Senators. He entertained himself with imagining methods he might use to kill them, when he no longer had use for them, and was in a fine mood by the time his scanning programs started beeping to inform him of an interesting piece of news.

He brought up the information after fetching his first cup of tea, took a sip, and forgot to swallow.

It burned on his tongue and in the back of his throat as he read, disbelief mounting with each word. It wasn’t  _ possible _ . He’d covered his tracks so carefully and, more than that, kept everyone who might possibly have looked so busy….

The impossible stared up at him, all his careful schemes brought to light and laid bare and naked in plain text. There were other notifications, populating along his screens. Senators were making statements already. Orders had been issued. He was not under arrest, apparently. Just wanted for  _ questioning _ .

He wondered how long that would last. 

He straightened. The report had come through with Senator Amidala’s codes and permissions. She’d disappeared off Coruscant months ago. He’d assumed her sudden flight involved some kind of romantic affair, he’d seen her emotional state a few times in meetings. 

Apparently, she’d been up to something far more nefarious. He scowled, thoughts racing along. She’d get hers. He’d make sure of it. So would all the rest of the Senators hastily jumping to condemn him. He’d remember all of them, every word they said.

None of them were a problem, really. The truth was just another tool, and people were so much happier to believe lies.

The problem was the Jedi. He pulled up fleet movements, information he should not technically have access to, and watched in real time as the great ships began changing course. He could  _ feel  _ the concern from the great Temple, but there weren’t enough Jedi there to do anything. Only the infirm were there, these days. Those too young or too old to fight.

The first of the cruisers would reach Coruscant within the  _ day _ . The guards sent to bring him in for questioning would arrive much sooner than that. He didn’t intend to be in his quarters when they arrived, though they would pose no threat to his physical well-being.

In fact, they’d likely help him, with only the briefest of nudges.

It was a thought to consider, a small problem in the face of a much larger issue. This situation could still be salvaged. He only needed to control the narrative. And slow down the Jedi. He’d planned, all along, for the Republic to win the war. It had seemed to best serve his purposes. But it didn’t  _ have  _ to be so.

Perhaps it was time for the Separatists to come into a piece of tremendous good luck. In fact, all of this information could be framed as a Separatist plot to discredit him, as they moved to wipe out the Republic armies utterly through foul, underhanded treachery.

His mouth curled into a brief smile. He’d planned to save the only option left before him, a co up de grâce to the Jedi, wiping them away all at once. But he hadn’t made it so far in his life without being willing to adapt.

He drew out his communicator, thumbing it on as he felt guards moving up the corridor, towards his rooms. He contacted the Separatists, first, and gave them orders for an attack, the last battle of the war. And then he gave the order he’d been waiting to give for so very, very long.

#

Anakin made it back to the  _ Peacemaker  _ in a daze. They had a hold full of rescued colonists, and he had a beaming apprentice. Ahsoka brimmed full of bright emotion, pride at a good job done well and a last minute rescue. Rex gripped her shoulder as he went by, murmuring, “Thanks, kid,” as he went, and she grinned after him, so happy in that moment that Anakin soaked it in, setting aside his own more complicated emotions.

He was still reeling from seeing Ben again. It had been a reminder that what he wanted - what he needed - he couldn’t have. Touching Ben had reopened old wounds and reminded him of exactly what was missing in his life.

But, Force, Anakin was still so glad he’d gotten the chance to touch Ben. He wouldn’t have traded it, brief though their contact had been. The meeting had given him the knowledge that Ben  _ loved him _ . He’d felt the truth of it, across their connection. He felt it, still, a kernel of warmth in his chest. 

He felt it as he reached the bridge, meeting with Master Unduli; she looked worse for wear after Ahsoka’s rescue. But then, she hadn’t looked herself since she boarded the  _ Peacemaker _ . As far as he knew, no one had been able to find Barriss in the last six months. He couldn’t imagine going through the same thing with Ahsoka.

He had no idea what to say to Unduli about it, or even if he should say anything. He cut her a glance out of the corner of his eyes, and one of the troopers on deck straightened, and said, “Sir, we’re getting a transmission on a frequency from the Senate. It’s--”

Anakin felt the trooper’s rising alarm. He glanced over. “It’s what?”

The trooper looked back at him, eyes wide. “I think you better just come look, sir.”

#

Cody was speaking with General Yoda, about the need to go to Kamino, about what Longshot and the others had found, when the emergency message came through. He’d laid out the necessity of going, damn the Senate’s orders and the Council’s, too, and Yoda had been gazing up at him, still and impossible to read.

It had been far from the first time Cody wished Once were beside him over the last six months. Once would have known if any of the words were getting through, and Cody tended to pick up  _ some  _ of what Once did, some kind of strange connection left behind by their time in the tunnels.

But he’d just had to hold his breath and  _ hope _ , with no clue what Yoda’s half-lidded eyes were hiding, until the General nodded. “Very well,” he said, and Cody felt like he’d taken a blow, the relief knocking out the breath he’d held. “Return to Kamino, we will. Order--”

He’d been interrupted by reports of a strange message they were receiving. Cody’d followed the General to the bridge, been there while he read the report, looked at it over his shoulder. It didn’t say much Cody didn’t already suspect, but it did contain something they’d never had.

Proof.

So much proof, carefully arranged and laid out. Proof about where the funding for he and his brothers had actually came from; directly from the Chancellor’s accounts, though, of course, he hadn’t  _ been  _ Chancellor, then. Records connecting Palpaltine to the levels beneath Coruscant. Paperwork showing brief connections, here and there, to the Separatists….

“Return to Coruscant, immediately, we must,” Yoda said, looking up, leaning hard on his cane. “Handle this news, the Council will--”

“With respect, sir,” Cody interrupted, bracing for Yoda’s sharp look in his direction. “I think we should continue on to Kamino.”

Yoda watched him, head tilting to the side. “Share your reasoning, you will.”

Cody drew his shoulders back. “Sir. If we’re… who  _ knows  _ what those command codes do, General. The enemy’s been backed into a corner. We have no idea what he’ll do. We should take away any possible weapons at his disposal as quickly as possible.”

Cody would have preferred such major revelations be reserved until  _ after  _ they’d handled the chips. But perhaps the individual who’d leaked the information hadn’t known about the chips. After all, they’d kept it to themselves. That seemed, abruptly, like a mistake.

Yoda stared for a beat, and then nodded. “A good point, you make.” Relief burned hot down Cody’s nerves when Yoda set their course. It stayed there, simmering inside him, until he was finally dismissed from the bridge. It was accompanied by an ache in the back of his skull, a reminder, perhaps, of too many sleepless nights.

His feet carried him down the halls, towards the brig. Once deserved to know that they were  _ finally  _ having some success. Cody no longer cared about keeping up appearances. If this were ending, if they were going to fix it, fix it all somehow, they were going to get Once out of the kriffing cage, too.

He received a call  _ back  _ to the bridge just as he reached the cells, and acknowledged it without turning. Apparently, a Separatist fleet had changed course abruptly, towards them. That could wait, for just a moment. 

He nodded to the guard outside the cell block, stepping in to find Once already on his feet, pacing in front of the barrier. He looked worn away, in a painful way. His hair had grown shaggy around his face and there were circles under his eyes. Cody knew he wasn’t sleeping well, or much, knew he barely picked at the meals they brought him, but all of that was going to be done, soon.

“Commander,” he said, as Cody entered, “what’s going on? Why is everyone so…” he gestured to one side.

Cody took a step forward, ignoring the headache, dismissing it entirely. “It’s big news,” he said, coming as close to the forcefield as he could, wishing, in a way, it were glass, so at least he could press a hand against it as the story spilled out of him.

Once laughed a little at the end, bringing his hands up to scrub at his face. “Force,” he said, through his fingers, “it’s really - we’re really going to do it.” He dragged his fingers back through his hair, snagging on tangles. He smiled across at Cody, eyes shining, and Cody wanted - wanted -

The headache was getting worse. He reached up to rub at his temple, vaguely aware of Once jerking back away from the front of the cell. “Cody?” Once asked, all the relief drained out of his voice. Cody shook his head, words crawling into his head, scratching at the inside of his skull. He glanced over at Once through eyes that were blurry, abruptly, and saw horror written all over his expression.

“Help,” Cody managed to pant, listening to Crys get up in the cell beside Once, listening to him shift around.

Cody was still listening when Crys said, flat and calm, “A good soldier follows orders, Commander.”

The headache went away. Everything went away. His fingers curled around his blaster; he was aware of the weight of it against his palm, and then nothing else.

#

Once felt Cody go away. It was like feeling him die, the parts of Cody’s mind that were  _ him _ suddenly going quiet and still and blank. Once had felt it in the past, right before Crys drew a blaster and tried to put a shot through the back of his head. But this time, he wasn’t just feeling it from Cody.

He felt it  _ everywhere _ . Minds around the ship were shutting down, one after another, all in a rush. He took another step back, horror climbing up his throat. This wasn’t supposed to happen. They were supposed to be on their way to Kamino. Onezero was supposed to do something to the computers. This was supposed to be over, to be done, they were--

Cody straightened from his slump against the wall. He was breathing raggedly, as though he’d just run a marathon with a fifty pound pack. He had his blaster in a shaking hand as he reached out and turned off the shielding over Once’s cell.

There was nothing of Cody in his mind. Just emptiness and the Dark. Once stared at him, thinking about promises Cody had tried to extract from him, back when things had seemed awful, but hadn’t really been so bad, looking back. He thought about what Cody was going to do, when the Dark went away, and he came back.

“Please,” Once said, reaching out to the Force, blindly, desperately drawing on his brothers, “please, you can fight this.”

Cody lifted the blaster, arm shaking, breath punching out, shuddery and uneven, and there was nothing of him in his eyes or his expression. Once had no weapons. He hadn’t fought in six months. The only thing he had was the Force, was his brothers, their concern rushing into him, given freely.

Cody’s finger tightened on the trigger, and Once moved, drawing the Force closer, all against his skin. He gripped Cody’s wrist, in his space in a second, the blaster discharging by his ear. Cody gripped at him with his other hand, so tight it hurt, but Once ignored it, shoving him back with the Force, against the nearest wall.

There was a thing in Cody’s head. A Dark thing. A thing Onezero had been supposed to corrupt.

Well, Once had corrupted it before. And they didn’t have any time to get to Kamino or computer systems. He gripped the side Cody’s face, pulling close, and kissed him. Once wanted to do that, one more time. One last time. He heard the door to the cell block open, catching a glimpse of white armor, blasters, out of the corner of his eyes. He ignored them, shut his eyes, kissed the unforgiving line of Cody’s mouth, and pushed  _ in _ .

Last time he’d asked for entry, asked Cody to let him inside. Cody wasn’t there to give permission, and Once felt sick, disgusted with himself as he slid along thoughts familiar to him now. It was  _ easy _ . He’d done this before; he knew Cody’s mind.

Some part of it welcomed him, opening to him. He heard Cody gasp from somewhere far away, from outside his body, because Once wasn’t necessarily  _ in  _ his body anymore. He spread out, the way he had in the caves, reaching for the other troopers, all the bright, sharp minds of the Type 1s, currently alien and cold.

He knew what they were supposed to feel like. He could force them back to what they were  _ supposed to be _ . He shoved outward, seeing flashes of corridors around the ship, further, catching a glimpse of the bridge, of Yoda, lightsaber in hand and lit, blaster marks across the deck and walls around him, out--

Something was happening to his physical body. He was vaguely aware of it, the way he was when a limb fell asleep. But it barely felt connected to him. There were  _ so many  _ Type 1s. And they were everywhere. He couldn’t reach them all, it was impossible--

He felt a hand curl around his and looked down. The fingers and knuckles were familiar. He saw them everyday, had his entire life. He looked up a familiar arm, into a familiar face, into his own eyes, just slightly different, and knew he was hallucinating, had to be.

But it was a nice hallucination, all his brothers, stretched out. Some of them made no sense, didn’t fit as well. There were children. A girl. Even with all of them, they were so few, he noted, absently. There’d been so many more, when they left Kamino. Even with their full number, Once knew they wouldn’t have been enough. To touch so many minds, so far apart, required a power they just didn’t have. He didn’t know anyone who did.

There was a jolt, through their connection, a sudden flash of  _ wait-i-do  _ felt across their thoughts.

Someone gripped his other hand, bringing with them sudden, fierce determination. The hand wasn’t one of his brothers. It was the wrong shape, the wrong size, but-- 

A circuit closed. Power such as Once had never even  _ imagined  _ poured into his head.

The universe went away.

#

There’d been no warning before the attack. One moment, Anakin had been arguing with Master Unduli over a console on the bridge, trying to decide what the kriff they were supposed to do  _ now _ , with the world gone completely mad, with the news from Coruscant, with word of a Separatist attack fleet suddenly closing on them, and the next there’d been a whine of blasters.

He’d lost track of Unduli in the firefight that followed, the Type 1s on the bridge opening fire and bringing down hell on them. He’d fought his way out, off of the bridge, his priorities roughly reshaping and narrowing.

Ahsoka was somewhere on the  _ Peacemaker _ . She’d - she’d wanted to rest, after everything that happened on Zygerria. He could feel her, through their connection. She wasn’t resting anymore, full of panic and horror. He batted aside blaster bolts, shoved troopers away, and fought for each step through the ship. She wasn’t that far away. He needed to get to her.

He didn’t know what was happening, didn’t have time to think about it, but he could feel the Darkness in the troopers. It didn’t take much thought to remember the chips Qui-Gon had warned him about, so long ago.

His connection with Ahsoka abruptly flared with agony, hurt so sharp it made him stumble. He cried out, ragged, and stretched out a hand, unsure how he’d get to her in time, but he had to  _ try _ . He didn’t know how not to, pushing and shoving forward, turning a corner to find her backing down a hall, her lightsabers in hand even as she pled, “Please, please, stop, don’t--”

He watched the troopers open fire, jerking forward with his heart in his throat, no longer thinking, and it wasn’t enough. Not enough to stop a shot from taking her in the chest. He lunged forward, grabbing her before she hit the floor, for all the good it did. He shoved the troopers back, slamming them into walls, and lifted Ahsoka, hoping for a miracle, for some mercy from the Force in this sudden nightmare. He didn’t get that.

Instead, he got another stunning wave of hurt, pouring into his head. It wasn’t from Ahsoka, he realized, as the pain left him dazed, barely able to breathe. His heart jerked in his chest, because he knew Ben’s pain too well, too intimately by far.

It flooded across the re-growth of their bond, hurt and need, wrapped around each other. It was the way Ben had felt the very first time his neurotransmitters fell to madness. And Anakin had always been able to make that better.

He fell against a wall, scrambling to stay upright. Ahsoka felt weak in his arms. Her eyes weren’t open. At least she wasn’t feeling pain, anymore. He couldn’t feel Unduli at all. There were troopers, closing in around him. He could fight some of them, hundreds of them, maybe. But not an entire cruiser’s worth. He’d die, too, he realized, panting for breath. He was going to die, no matter what he did.

Force, but maybe he could help Ben before they killed him. He dragged his body forward, Ahsoka held awkwardly with one arm, into a room, didn’t matter what it was for, at that point, shutting the door and melting the lock. That would slow the troopers down, at least a little. He put his back to the wall and sank to his knees, tilting his head back, listening to the troopers bang on the door, and closing his eyes.

At least he’d gotten to see Ben, one more time. He’d gotten to kiss Ben’s mouth, gotten to tell Ben how he felt. 

It wasn’t all he’d wanted, but it was more than he thought he’d get. He cradled Ahsoka closer, feeling her weak, rasping breath, and thought at least he’d found her. At least she wouldn’t die alone. Neither of them would.

“It’s okay, Snips,” he said, listening to blaster bolts against metal. “I got you.” And he took a breath, opening up to Ben. He’d only done this before when they could touch. It was easy to help when he could put hands on Ben’s skin. He had no idea if he could even help with so much distance between them, but--

He  _ felt  _ the connection, searing suddenly, full of terrible light and power. It  _ hurt _ , hurt in a way it hadn’t before, as though every cell of his body were on fire, all at once. He heard himself screaming, but it came from very far away.

#

Ben felt his brothers reaching for him in the fighter, parsecs away from Zygerria. R2 warbled a question when Ben switched over all flight controls, his hands suddenly shaking as the demands on his attention increased. “It’s--” Ben meant to say more, he did, but his brothers  _ needed _ and the words all got lost.

Something was wrong. Something huge. He couldn’t feel what it was, just the draw on him, the pull away of the Force, a Darkness so deep that it could not be fathomed, spreading out before them, no. Ringed in by  _ them _ .

His heart stuttered in his chest, losing its rhythm as the draw increased beyond his ability to offer power. Reaching for Anakin was a reflex. Anakin made this better. He always had. Anakin had power to  _ spare _ , but Ben had never reached for him from so far; the bond between them was only beginning to connect again. It was a doomed effort, it was--

Anakin reached back. Ben felt him, hurt and frightened and, yes, angry. The familiarity of it almost punched a laugh from Ben’s throat, but he hurt too much for that. Anakin’s agony blended with his, drew him in further. He needed and didn’t know if he had the strength to take.

He didn’t need to take anything, in the end. Anakin followed the paths of his need, and gave. Ben bowed up against the fighter’s restraints, muscles spasming as the Force moved through him, overfilling his cells, his mind, his being. It passed onward, outward, through to his brothers, just using him as the bridge.

He screamed, hearing himself, desperate, horrible, gulping screams, his pain and Anakin’s all mingled together, blending into one thing. Waiting to die, wanting it, at least as a way to get away from the pain, the horrible, consuming brightness of it, he couldn’t take any more of it, couldn’t bear it, couldn’t--

It stopped, all at once, leaving him feeling emptied out, hollow.

He sagged down against the seat, no strength left in his body, gasping for breath wetly. There were tears over his cheeks. He tried to lift a hand and couldn’t, shaking all over. R2 made demands of him, loud and shrill, but Ben couldn’t decipher them, not at all. He could barely keep hold of his thoughts, before he fell into blackness.

#

Cody had a blaster in his hand. He became aware of that fact first, feeling as though he were waking up from a dead sleep. There was a blaster in his hand, his finger on the trigger. Other facts slipped in around that one, widening his awareness of the world.

He was pressed against a wall. There was a hand against his face, familiar. There was a mouth pressed against his. Once. He felt it for only a moment, before it slipped away. He blinked, body registering that Once was collapsing before his conscious mind realized what was happening.

He moved to grab Once, unsure how he’d gotten out of the cell in the first place, and found him shaking, seizing, eyes rolled back in his head. “Kriffing hell,” Cody panted, shoving his blaster back into his holster, lowering Once to the ground.

The air smelled like blaster fire. A brief look around showed a blaster burn on the far wall of Once’s cell. He laid Once out, on his side, keeping a hand on his shoulder as he shook and shook. The door to the cell block was open, he realized, looking sideways. A half-dozen troopers stood there, blasters drawn, holding onto one another.

“What the kriff just happened?” Cody demanded, his head pounding, full of pain and the lingering feeling of Once’s mind, of blinding light. 

“I don’t know, sir,” one of the troopers said, slurring just a little, and Cody swore again.

“Get a medic down here, right now!” He looked down at Once, gone terribly pale, his color making the blood at his ears and nose stand out more sharply. He thought to lift Once, but moving him seemed like… not the best idea. “Get all the medics down here! Hurry!”

He listened to them run off, their footfalls fading away, and stroked a hand back over Once’s hair, making soothing nonsense sounds. “It’s alright,” he said, shifting around, getting Once’s head on his lap, off of the floor, “it’s alright, it’s going to be fine.” He hoped to the Force he was right. Once wouldn’t stop shaking. He looked up, “Medic!”

“Help, a medic will not,” Yoda said, stepping into the doorway, bent over his cane. His robes were stained and charred. He’d felt hurt, Cody thought, and shook the thought away. It wasn’t one of his. “Heal this affliction, they cannot.”

“What?” Cody tightened his grip on Once as Yoda limped into the room and over to them. “What happened, what’s going on?”

Yoda shook his head, sinking to the ground beside Once’s head. “Too late, we were,” he said, ears drooping. “Struck with a terrible weapon, our enemy has.”

Cody shuddered, his mouth full of acid. His mind lined up facts, all in a row, for him to absorb, each one crueler than the last. He’d woken with his blaster in his hands. General Yoda had taken a shot. Crys had shot at Once, when his chip activated. “Oh, Force,” he said, fighting to level out his breathing. “How bad?”

“Know yet, I do not,” Yoda said. “As bad as it could have been, it was not.” He reached out, placing a hand on Once’s head.

Cody swallowed, hard. “Because of whatever he did.” Once’s breathing was still uneven, rattling. Sometimes he went so long before drawing in a new breath that Cody was sure he wouldn’t.  _ And the medics still weren’t there _ . “The medics can--”

“No,” Yoda said. “Beyond them, this is.” 

“Then you can help him,” Cody said, fingers clenched tight in Once’s robes. He hadn’t wanted Once dead for him. It was just as bad as having pulled the trigger himself. Once felt cold, terribly so, gasping for breath like he was drowning on air.

“Relax, Commander,” Crys said, an unpleasant, unwelcome voice, “there’s plenty more where he came from.”

“Silence,” Yoda said, raising a hand. Crys made a muffled sound. Cody didn’t spare him a look. “Attempt to help him, I will,” Yoda continued, putting both of his tiny hands on Once. He spared Cody a look. He said, a warning in his words, “Severe, the damage is.” He panted. “And weak, I am, already. Old. And wounded. Failing, my strength is.”

Cody nodded, unable to do anything but hope, desperately, watching the General shut his eyes and bend his head over. Cody shifted, enough to take one of Once’s cold hands, squeezing, imagining himself an anchor, pulling Once back from whatever was trying to drag him away.

The shaking stopped, slowly. So did Once’s breath, for a terrible moment. Cody gritted his teeth, holding a sound in his throat, and Once jerked, sucking in a breath, gulping at the air and bursting into wracking coughs.

Cody made nonsense sounds, pulling him closer and up, rubbing his back as he coughed, barely aware of the General slumping against the wall. “Once?” Cody asked, drawing his face up, pushing his hair back, needing to see his eyes. The blood vessels had burst inside the whites of his eyes, giving him a terrible look, and his smile was weak and crooked, but there.

“We did it,” he slurred, coughing again, “you’re alright.”

Cody gaped at him, smoothing away tears and blood, only making a mess of his skin, pulling him closer and kissing his mouth, kriff anyone who complained. “ _ You _ did it,” he said, against Once’s mouth. “Though I don’t know what, exactly, you did.”

“We corrupted them,” Once said, sinking against him, like he had no more strength left. Cody tucked Once close, under his chin, arms curling around him. “My brothers and I. The chips. We…” he trailed off, just breathing for a moment, and then said, stiffening with sudden concern. “General Yoda? Are you alright?” He got no answer, shifting in Cody’s arms. “General Yoda? Oh, Force, Cody...”

Cody let him go, reluctantly, when he twisted away. He didn’t go far. Yoda had collapsed beside them. Once touched the General, turning him. He was limp and terribly, terribly still. His head fell back against Once’s hand, and Once looked over at Cody, expression horror struck. 

Cody asked, knowing the answer already, “Is he…?”

Once jerked out a nod, swallowing hard, and Cody gripped his shoulder. The medics showed up, then, finally, far too late to do anything for any of them. And the proximity alarms started going off, all over the ship.

#

Anakin woke up to voices. It was a surprising turn of events. He’d been fairly certain he was dead, but apparently not. He blinked. His eyes felt crusted shut. Opening them hurt. Everything hurt, really, but there were voices, saying something, calling his name.

He rolled his head to the side. He was still sitting against the wall, holding Ahsoka. She was heavy. His legs had gone to sleep. He blinked, trying to make sense of the world. There was light coming through the doorway. Voices. A figure in white, stepping into the room, and Anakin flinched, raising a hand as his hearing came back, enough for him to make out, “--now, sir, it’s over, it’s over. No one is going to-- Kriff, Ahsoka!”

The figure jerked forward and he registered pale hair, worried eyes. “Rex,” he rasped, sensing no violence, no Darkness in the air around them. He put his arm down when Rex knelt in front of him. “What the kriff happened?”

“Don’t know, sir,” Rex said, pulling at his arm, until Anakin relented and let him shift Ahsoka away. Rex stood, his emotions tangled in the Force, full of grief and horror. “But it’s over now. I think you should… see to General Unduli. And, sir, I’m not sure, but I think maybe we’re all under arrest.”

Anakin swore, weakly. He wasn’t sure he could stand, but it didn’t seem like he was going to be getting the option to stay slumped against the wall. He pulled himself up as Rex disappeared out of the room.

The hall was full of troopers who wouldn’t meet his eyes. The door had been blasted open, he noticed. They’d used an impressive amount of ordinance, but they were always creative, his troopers. He’d known they’d get in, sooner rather than later.

He didn’t know what to say to them, any of them. He had a terrible suspicion about exactly what had happened, though, and gestured at the closest trooper. “Hey, it’s, come here, for a second.” The man looked like he wanted to do anything else, but raised his chin and stepped up, bracing. 

“It’s…” Anakin didn’t know what it was. He trailed off, raising a hand, reaching into the trooper’s mind the way Qui-Gon had shown him, long ago. He felt for the Dark thing and got -- nothing. The thing was still there. He felt it. It just no longer felt like much of anything.

“Sir?” the trooper asked, looking at him with banked dread. Anakin wondered what he was expecting, what all of them were expecting. They were waiting for something, that much was clear, just lingering in the corridor, radiating a sense of confusion.

“Nothing,” Anakin said.

“Sir,” another trooper said, shifting uncomfortably. “Sir, we don’t know what happened to us, but we’re getting reports it happened  _ everywhere _ . It’s… There’s a lot of Generals dead. Sir. We… General Unduli, she…we didn’t  _ mean to _ , I swear, we...”

Anakin swallowed. His throat burned. There was anger inside him, even still, but it wasn’t directed at  _ them _ . “I know,” he said, scrubbing a hand up over his face. The reports they’d gotten, before everything went completely wrong, came back to mind.

He saw the glances exchanged around the corridor, a slight lowering of tension in the air. “You know, sir?”

“Yeah.” Explanations were in order, but they could wait a click, until Anakin got his ship in order and a new course laid in. “I need to get to the bridge.” He needed to know exactly where Palpatine had last been seen. The attack of the Type 1s felt like the right kind of desperate for a Sith Lord just exposed to the world.

Anakin had a feeling it would be too much to ask to assume the man had been arrested in his office.

#

Cody had a dead General - his second, not a stunning record, he was aware - and a ship full of troopers who didn’t understand what had happened to them. No one seemed inclined to demand a report from them. When Cody made it to the bridge, Once limping along, looking like death, no one else in the entire Army seemed to know what to do.

He got his men into order, as much as possible. Longshot and the others from the caves seemed to have decided  _ they  _ knew what was going on, and were spreading word around the ship. It sounded close enough to the truth that Cody left them to it, sending messages to the other cruisers, trying to shape order out of the madness they’d fallen into.

None of the news that came in was encouraging. Jedi had been killed, not just General Yoda. Cody looked over the names, aching in his chest at each one, for the General and for whichever of his brothers had pulled the trigger.

There wasn’t time to focus on it, which was almost a blessing. They had a Separatist fleet steaming towards them at speed. The kriffers were, apparently, aiming for a ship-to-ship engagement. Similar attacks were going on across the galaxy. Cody had no General to give orders. He stared at the approaching ships, dread curling in his gut, and took a little breath when Once reached out and gripped his shoulder.

Cody glanced over at him. He looked horrible, whites of his eyes stained red, skin pale. He should, by rights, have been in the infirmary, getting tended to, but Cody couldn’t help but be grateful he wasn’t. “It’s going to be alright,” Once said.

Cody resisted the urge to shake his head. They were on the bridge. His brothers were all watching. “I’ve never--” He gestured.

“Yes, you have,” Once said, mouth quirking. “Just not officially. You can do this.”

And it was true enough that General Yoda had no clue how to run a battle. He’d mostly left Cody to it, with suggestions here and there. But running a battle with a General’s vague oversight and running a battle alone were two different things.

But he nodded. Someone had to do it; that someone was him. He straightened his spine. Everything else would have to wait, until people weren’t trying to kill them all. He barked orders and glanced back at Once, adding, more quietly, “You should really go to the infirmary.”

Once had taken the station beside him, and looked over, frowning at him through a holo projection of the approaching ships. “Is that an order, Commander?”

“No.” As long as Once could stand, Cody wouldn’t order him to leave. Not with the memory of his mind going  _ away _ so fresh. He knew, if it happened again, there was likely nothing he’d be able to do to save Once. But he wanted to be there, anyway.

“Then I’ll stay here,” Once said, bending back to the controls, and Cody felt the brush of his mind, full of reassurance, soft and welcome as a kiss. He was there, throughout the entirety of the battle that followed, steady as a touchstone over long hours of wave after wave of fighting.

The Separatists  _ threw  _ droids at them, as though determined to win the fight through attrition, if nothing else. Cody watched their forces struggle, his brothers dying on his orders and his alone, and gritted his jaw.

They couldn’t give up. They couldn’t run. The droids would just slaughter them, anyway. All that was left was fighting, adjusting plans, taking strategies as Once suggested them, scrambling to get ahead. They fought, endlessly, until the last of the great ships brought against them finally shattered to pieces, drifting amongst the stars.

There were no cheers. It wasn’t a cheering kind of day. Cody leaned against the command board, hands pressed flat, breathing through exhaustion and grief. Guilt. All the emotions he hadn’t had time to feel, before.

Once shifted beside him, his thoughts a touch they couldn’t make physical. “I think,” he said, black circles beneath his reddened eyes, “I’d like to go to the infirmary now, Commander. If I could be dismissed.”

Cody swore, softly, straightening and reaching out to steady Once when he swayed. “Come on,” he said, turning to assign command while he was off the bridge, and pulled one of Once’s arms over his shoulders.

“They’re going to put me in bacta,” Once said, leaning against him. The battle had taken whatever stores of energy he had left. He was slurring his words, more than a bit.

Cody grunted. “Probably.” And then he’d be truly alone, trying to figure out what to do with the  _ Fallen Star _ and all of his brothers.

“Come here, then.” Cody didn’t understand what he meant, at first. Not until Once pulled to a stop and shifted, reaching up to slide a hand across his cheek. And they shouldn’t, probably. Or maybe they should. Cody had no idea, suddenly, what regulations would  _ be  _ for their situation. He found he cared even less.

He leaned closer, and Once made a relieved sound, kissing him in the hall. Cody shifted, pulling him closer, tasting blood on his mouth, but, Force, he’d spent six months wanting little more than to pull Once close and kiss him. 

Someone whistled, in the hall. Cody drew back, flashing a scowl at the trooper, who moved a little faster past them. Once only made a soft sound, a laugh, leaning his head against Cody’s shoulder. “Alright,” he said. “Infirmary. Now.”

Cody nodded, pressed a kiss to the side of his head, and got them moving again.

#

It  _ didn’t work _ .

Palpatine scowled at the reports rolling in. Bleakness and terrible hatred gripped him. Oh, some of the Jedi had been killed, it seemed. But they should have  _ all  _ been dead. The troopers should have killed them and then been killed by the Separatists, taking out so many of his problems all at once.

Instead, they’d  _ stopped _ . Apparently, some were requesting that they be  _ arrested _ . Some, those who had managed to successfully kill one of the Jedi, had turned blasters on  _ themselves _ . It was not to be believed, he couldn’t even comprehend how it could be happening.

He re-sent the command twice more, but it had no effect at all, as far as he could see. The Force damned Kaminoans hadn’t even been able to complete a simple task. All of his plans for having the Separatists sweep in, attacking the fleets while they were in tumult, burned away to nothing, thwarted.

The chips had been his last, best hope.

He snarled, pacing in frustrated circles around the apartment he’d slipped away to, immediately after the revelation of his plans. The guards had been ever so happy to let him go, their minds were  _ weak.  _ The minds of everyone on this world were  _ weak _ , and yet…

He inhaled, holding the breath in his lungs. All of his careful plans were crumbling to ash, but he’d be damned if he were going to burn on his own. Senator Amidala had somehow exposed him, the Jedi had somehow defused the clones. A weaker man might have given in, thrown himself on what was sure to be the  _ mercy  _ of the Jedi.

He sneered, fingers curling into claws. He’d never been weak, not a day in his life. He wasn’t going to start  _ now _ .

They thought they could disrupt his plans. They thought they could come for him, hunt him to the ground?

This galaxy was supposed to be  _ his _ . He’d planned it all so carefully. Decades of work had gone into his efforts. He wouldn’t just stand by and let them beat him. No. No, the Jedi may have undone his work, but they wouldn’t win.

He’d see to that.

By the time he was done, there wouldn’t be  _ any  _ of them left. They’d wish for a blaster bolt from a trooper in the back of the head. He’d tear them apart, rip out the very heart of them. He knew all their secrets, after all, and secrets were always a truer power than a blaster or even a flotilla of ships.

Reaching the Jedi Temple would be simple enough. He could pass unseen, obscuring the minds of the weak-willed Coruscanti citizenry. He had nothing to fear upon reaching the Temple. Only the weak and infirm remained inside the walls. He’d carve his way through them, and they would be, perhaps, a satisfying precursor to the greater destruction he had planned.

He had an appointment below the Temple, with the core of power hidden there so long ago, the abyss of the Dark side that he’d drawn power from for so long.

It was past time the Jedi learned the true power of the Dark side. He scowled, and set to planning all he would do, looking over the positioning of all the remaining Republic cruisers. Many were returning to Coruscant, including the  _ Peacemaker _ .

He smiled.

He needed only to wait for Skywalker to arrive. It wouldn’t take more than a few days.

He could bide his time, until then.

#

R2 hadn’t faltered in his course, while Ben fell apart, screaming, into the light. He came back to himself to find that they’d made good time; the passages to Coruscant were all well-traveled. He also came back to news, so much news about things missed.

R2 warbled nervously as Ben read over accusations about the Chancellor – proven, it seemed, beyond doubt. There’d been a strange lack of response from the Jedi, from Republic forces as a whole, it seemed. There were reports of violence aboardship and in the field. R2 retained codes to access GAR comm traffic, and it seemed the reports were greatly underreported.

Jedi were dead, killed by their troopers. Not many, but more than enough to send a chill down Ben’s spine. He didn’t ask after Anakin; he knew Anakin was still alive. He could feel him. Their bond had begun to heal; he’d thought the process would take time, but whatever they’d done, whatever had happened when Anakin reached back, had seared the connection into place.

Anakin felt alright, and so Ben did not order R2 to turn around and head for the  _ Peacemaker  _ at all possible speed, even when R2 reported on multiple Separatist attacks against different Republic cruisers.

Ben wasn’t going to make a difference against an entire Separatist fleet. But he might make a difference elsewhere. The reports also said that no one had seen the Chancellor. There’d been movements to bring him into custody, plans thrown into disarray. He’d disappeared, last seen on Coruscant.

Ben had R2 adjust their course, giving the engines more than they could probably take. He had a bad feeling about whatever was waiting on Coruscant, a curl of dread in his chest that rang clarion clear in the Force.

Coruscant was in tumult by the time they reached the planet, after all their long days of travel to get back from the Outer Rim. Getting slotted for a landing berth was near impossible. Traffic onto and off of the planet had turned the sky into a gridlock. People couldn’t decide if they wanted to be there more than anything else, or be anywhere else in the galaxy. As Ben understood it, emergency meetings of the Senate were currently in session, trying to determine what damage, exactly, had been done by the Chancellor.

He cared little about the Senate. The Chancellor wasn’t there, currently. No one had found the man, during his travel time. He didn’t know where to even start looking. He’d never spent much time on Coruscant; Anakin barely visited the world. By all accounts, the Chancellor was a Sith lord, in actuality, but no one had ever noticed a Dark presence around him, so Ben didn’t know if he could be tracked that way.

He could sense one of his brothers on the planet, near the Senate. It was good to feel another so close, reassuring in a way, even if their bond currently felt of nothing but pain. He considered going to find his brother; perhaps he’d know something Ben didn’t, but never got the chance.

In the end, the sudden bursts of panic and hurt from the Temple gave him the information he’d been looking for.

The Force reverberated with agony, with death, and Ben flinched in the seat of the fighter, entering new coordinates into their system, shaking his head at R2’s questioning beeps about why, exactly, they were heading directly for the Jedi Temple.

#

Anakin never wanted to fight another battle in space for as long as he lived. He thought he might even get his wish. After the clash with the Separatists, he didn’t see how they could possibly have more droids, much less more ships. They’d thrown  _ everything  _ at the Republic cruisers, even managed to destroy a few.

But the  _ Peacemaker  _ had come through, mostly intact.

In the aftermath of the battle, he’d been able to go check on Ahsoka. She floated in bacta, recovering from the shot to her chest, the thread of her life steady through the Force. He never wanted to stare at someone he loved floating in bacta ever again, either.

Rex had arrived shortly after Anakin, banged up and limping. They’d lost atmosphere on two levels of the  _ Peacemaker  _ during the battle. The death tolls had risen and risen, and Anakin had closed his eyes and tried to process the day and just been  _ unable to _ .

He’d taken what comfort was possible in the bright spark of Ben’s life, nestled back inside his thoughts. The edges of the bond felt tender, new, but they were  _ solid _ . He returned to it, checking to make sure it remained, as he left the medbay and went back to the bridge.

There were dozens of communiques waiting, from troopers, from other Jedi, from the Senate.

No one seemed to know what to do next. Palpatine had evaded capture. The Separatists - what remained of them - were pulling back. Troopers were requesting orders about what to do with themselves, information about what they had done.

Most of the problems were issues Anakin couldn’t solve. But if even  _ half  _ of the information Padmé had shared about Palpatine were true, then he was the architect of so much of the loss in Anakin’s life. He’d engineered the attacks on Naboo, engineered this  _ entire kriffing war _ .

That made him responsible for Qui-Gon’s death. 

If he were the Sith lord, Dooku’s master, it made  _ him  _ the one who’d put that bond in Anakin’s head. It made a terrible sort of sense. He’d had access to Anakin from the time Anakin was young. Anakin had trusted him. He’d felt trustworthy, kind and interested and patient and--

And he’d put something inside Anakin that fed all his worst impulses.

So, Anakin had no idea what the Senate wanted to do about the Separatists - he didn’t really  _ care  _ \- and he didn’t know what ought to be done about the Type 1s. But he knew, inside his bones, exactly what fate should be held in store for Palpatine.

He’d been last seen on Coruscant.  _ Ben  _ was on the way to Coruscant. Anakin felt it, knew it without having to think about it. They’d meet up, Anakin decided. Hunt together. After the damage Palpatine had done, Anakin thought he’d like Ben to be there, when the man died.

He’d set a course for Coruscant, and only then went to get some of the rest he desperately needed. The trip was spent recovering. They all needed the rest. Information filtered through to them with each day. The Senate sent a delegation to Kamino to investigate the chips and the death of Master Shaak Ti. The Separatists sued for peace. The galaxy moved onward, turning, and Anakin felt the shift in the flow of the Force.

His troopers walked around the ship, tense and unhappy. Word of what had happened to them, what had been done to them, felt like little comfort. He’d lost a half-dozen; the entire crew on the bridge when the chips had activated.

They’d survived the battle, but not the following night. He read the notes they left, and hated Palpatine and the Kaminoans so deeply it left an ache inside him. They’d been good men, all of them, but Master Unduli had been a good woman.

They said there were some things they couldn’t live with.

It could have been worse, Anakin knew. In the night, when his thoughts wandered, he could picture something worse, a place where the Type 1s weren’t freed after a matter of moments, where they’d continued onward.

There were so many of them. All the Jedi would have died. But imagining the worst was a cold comfort, a game of numbers that didn’t change the fact that they’d been used against their will, turned into weapons one more time, and aimed back at the people they’d come to care about.

Anakin didn’t know how to help them, hadn’t come up with a way by the time they achieved orbit over Coruscant. He spoke with Rex - the conversation was tense, he wondered if it would  _ always  _ be tense, from now on - coming up with strategies to search the planet, all while monitoring Ben down below.

Ahsoka stood with them, newly out of the bacta tanks. She was watching Rex warily, out of the corners of her eyes, and pretending not to, while he pretended not to notice. Anakin didn’t know how to fix  _ that _ , either, refocusing on the plans.

He froze, in the middle of a sentence, when Ben’s emotions shifted all at once, sharpening.

“Sir?” Rex asked, prompting him.

Anakin shook his head, straightening away from the table where they’d been working. “I have to go.”

“Sir, what--”

But Anakin was already out of the room, barking, over his shoulder, “Follow me. I’m going to the Temple.”

#

There were bodies, everywhere. Ben walked past two Jedi in the hangar, both of them crumpled and still. He could feel their emptiness in the Force, and shuddered, moving past them quickly. There was nothing he could do for them, and there were others, up ahead, frightened. Hurt.

Some were his brothers. The small ones, he realized, with a painful ache. 

There were so few of them left, so many had died on Kamino. He sped his steps, moving past more of the dead, noting, absently, that they had all been killed with a lightsaber. The main hall was full of Jedi. Some of them lived, hurriedly tending the dead and injured. The air was full of the stench of burned flesh and reverberations of shock and horror.

Ben pushed all that aside. There were few warriors left the Temple. Most were in the field. There were just… just children. Healers. Teachers. A few guards. Whoever had carved this path had far outmatched the skills of those they’d come up against. It had been a bloodbath, and Ben’s knuckles itched at the brutality of it.

He took a step forward, looking for someone to demand answers from, grabbing a Mon Calamari dressed as a healer as she moved to kneel by one of the dead. She jerked as she looked at him, some older grief momentarily cutting through the haze of panic in her mind. She gasped, “Force be good,” and pulled weakly against his hold, “another ghost.”

“I’m no ghost,” he assured her, hot, burning worry clearing aside any hurt at yet another reminder that he was only a dead man to so many of the Jedi. “Who did this? Where did they go?”

She gaped at him, her eyes huge and shining, her mind full of horror. He squeezed her arm, pushing comfort at her, and perhaps desperate times called for desperate measures. He said, shifting his tone, “It’s alright. It’s me. Where did they go?”

He hadn’t expected the way she went still. She gulped at the air, sagging a bit, and gestured to one side of the room. “It was a man,” she said. “A man in a black robe, with a red lightsaber. He was moving deeper into the Temple. He didn’t – he didn’t even slow down.”

Ben squeezed her arm once more and let go. He looked around at the dead and dying, seeing no sign of his little brothers; they were still alive, though. He held onto that, a line of reassurance. They lived, still, and they’d been trained to fight already, more than most of the Jedi still in the Temple. “I’ll slow him down,” he said, and turned on his heel, and left her standing there.

He didn’t look back when she called after him to be careful, to wait for assistance.

She used the wrong name, anyway.

Ben had never entered the Jedi Temple. He’d heard about it, learned about it, but that had been the extent of his familiarity with the structure. He assumed he wasn’t seeing it at it’s best, but, even still, there was a beauty to the sweeping lines of the place. It was marred by the dead Jedi strewn through the halls. Ben followed them, as much as anything else, sure he was on the right path when he had to step over a robed figure cut down and sprawled loose-limbed across the ground. 

He vaguely recalled the lay-out of the Temple, from his time on Kamino. That had been so long ago, and so much else had filled his mind since those days. But it seemed to him that the interloper wasn’t heading towards the occupied areas of the Temple, or even the Archives. He didn’t appear to be going anywhere of interest at all. In fact, he was going downward, towards nothing but storage areas and old hallways barely used.

Ben followed, through the quiet and the dark, on his own, because there was no one else to do it. He moved on silent feet and kept his lightsabers unlit, senses stretched out as far as he could push them, as he ran out of bodies to track. There was no one else down here, either alive or dead. Just him, and, somewhere, a Sith lord he couldn’t sense.

He tried to reach for his brothers, the reaction automatic in response to the situation, and got a deep throb of warning for his trouble. Whatever they’d all done, back in his fighter, had left their connection damaged. It felt burnt, almost; still there, perhaps even accessible, he thought. But, oh, using it was going to hurt.

Ben left it; he couldn’t afford the distraction, anyway. He swallowed, sensing passages in the dark, following the hint and promise of heat foreign to this place, or faint traces of movement in the air. He tested his connection to Anakin, not wanting to be alone completely in the dark, and could feel him, full of worry and anger. The familiarity of it was a balm, as he moved forward, past the areas of the Temple he knew, into a space that, as far as his teachers on Kamino had been concerned, did not exist. He became slowly aware of something else in the halls around him.

It was not a presence, as such. Not a beast prepared to strike out at him. It was more insidious than that, a creeping, oily sensation, one he’d felt before. The Dark side moved down in the tunnels below the Temple, in passages carved of uneven stone. It brushed against Ben’s skin and sought to curl down his throat, and he shuddered, feeling it get thicker with each step in the right direction.

He no longer had to wonder if he was going the right way, at least. Where would a Sith Lord be going, under the Jedi Temple, except to the source of whatever this was? Ben swallowed, pulse thrumming beneath his skin, reaching for his brothers and jerking back at the warning sting across his mind. He took each step while alone in a way he’d never been, not even while on the run.

There’d always been his brothers to lean on, to call to, when he didn’t know what else to do.

He proceeded, utterly alone, deeper and deeper, away from the surface of the world and the light of the sun, the warmth of the Jedi, until he came to an open space. It was lit, slightly, with a reddish glow. After so long in the dark, it hurt his eyes. He stared into it, anyway, making out a large chamber, full of sharp lines and ugly angles, with a darkness around the edges that suggested emptiness instead of walls.

There was something in the middle of the space, a table of some kind. An altar, his mind suggested, as he lingered in the doorway, pressed against the wall so as not to silhouette himself against the light. He could still not sense anyone around him, but the hair all along his neck and down his arms had stood up. The presence might be masked in the Force, but his body knew he was not alone.

He focused on slowing his breathing, looking to center himself in the Force, and a voice said, out of the darkness, “Ah, you’re just in time. Come here. I’ve been waiting for you.” And in the dark gloom of the room, a blade of darkest red ignited, revealing a robed figure, the Sith Lord.

Palpatine, Ben supposed.

And Ben was not a fool. Perhaps with his brothers, he would have been able to stand a chance against so powerful a foe. But he couldn’t reach his brothers. There was just him, and he wasn’t even a Jedi. But he had an awful feeling about this room, about the altar in the center of it. Whatever the Sith planned, it couldn’t be allowed to come to fruition.

Ben was the only one in any position to stop it. And, he thought, he didn’t need to win, necessarily. He just needed to buy some time. To cause a delay. Anakin was coming. That much he knew with certainty. Anakin  _ would  _ follow him.

He found his peace, right in the center of his chest, and thumbed on his sabers, shifting away from the wall. “You’re under arrest,” he said, stepping forward, “by the orders of the Senate and the Grand Army of the Republic. Turn off your weapon and set it aside.”

Palpatine laughed, loud and cackling, delighted, and moved. He was impossibly fast, closing the distance between them, and there was no more time for words as Ben parried his attacks, there in the dark, all alone, hoping Anakin reached him quickly.

#

Anakin felt it, when Ben took his first injury, a sharp wash of pain across their connection. He swore, but didn’t slow his pace. He’d left Ahsoka on the steps of the Temple, in the care of the troopers. She’d yelled something after him, ordering him to wait for help, he thought, but he couldn’t slow down.

He could feel something Dark and awful, curling around Ben, tighter with each second that passed by. He noted, absently, the battlefield made of the main hall. The dead were being arranged, the survivors moving around with shock radiating out of their thoughts and off their faces. He ignored them. Whatever had happened there, it was past his ability to undo.

And Ben hurt. 

Anakin followed their connection headlong, running through darkness so bleak that he could not even see the shape of the walls. Little else mattered. The threat was down below, away from everyone else. Just Ben had thrown himself into the path of it, his determination bleeding through along with his pain, the sense that he was badly over-matched, and knew it.

Anakin pushed all other thoughts aside, pulled the Force closer, and dug out extra speed.

He lost track of time, aware too much of it was passing, as he slid around corners and jumped down flights of curving, treacherous stairs, until, finally, he saw the glow of lights ahead, red and blue, and heard the hiss of lightsabers. He ran into the room, full-out, his own lightsaber in hand as he burst through the doorway, taking in the huge space, the shape in the center, and the two figures brutally fighting one another.

He gritted his teeth, moving forward as the Dark figure straightened, lifting a hand and throwing Ben back with a gesture, sending him tumbling towards the edge of the room where, Anakin’s mind noted in a wave of dread, there appeared to be no walls. 

Ben rolled to a stop before the edge, shifting up into a crouch, sabers re-lit in his hands. He was breathing hard, sweat darkening his hair, his robes torn and singed in a half-dozen places. Anakin gritted his jaw, and the Sith lord, the Chancellor – Force, but Anakin had been such a fool, for years – laughed and said, “Finally. Now, we can begin.”

“No,” Anakin said, moving forward, “now we’re ending this.”

Palpaltine snorted. “Please,” he said, and lifted a hand, lightning called to his hand all at once. Anakin braced for it, but it wasn’t thrown at him. Ben grunted, sabers up and crossed, holding the energy for the moment. “We are just getting started. Put down your lightsaber, dear Anakin. You and I have much to discuss.”

“We really don’t,” Anakin assured him. “I don’t know what you think is going to happen here, but--”

Ben cried out, then, snagging Anakin’s attention. The shadows in the room were moving, impossibly. They’d curled upwards, around Ben. As Anakin watched, denial heavy on his tongue, wisps wrapped around his wrists, and yanked. He screamed, writhing, as lightning danced across his skin, stopping after a moment. Ben sagged, breathing raggedly.

“Leave him,” Palpatine snapped, his voice odd and cold, when Anakin jerked towards Ben. “And I will tell you exactly what’s going to happen here.”

Anakin glared across at him, anger simmering hot under his skin. The shadows were dragging Ben, slowly but surely, towards the floor. The darkness had curled up, around his throat, a band of black that pressed into his skin visibly. Anakin snapped, “Let him go.”

“No, I don’t think I will,” Palpatine said, standing there, as though completely unbothered in his robe, one pale hand still extended out, flashes of power moving between his fingers. “This is why the Jedi worry so much about attachment, you know. If you’d maintained proper distance, you would be trying to kill me, right now.”

Anakin couldn’t argue the point. He worked his jaw and snarled, “What do you want?”

“What do I want?” Palpatine cocked his head to the side. “I wanted so many things, but you’ve ruined all of that, haven’t you? You and these misbegotten things?” He crooked his fingers, lightning springing to life, and Ben screamed, thrashing in bonds of shadow that wouldn’t let him move.

“Stop it!” Anakin jerked forward, and Palpatine sighed, looking at him, lightning fading away.

“Oh, my apologies,” he said, “you asked what I wanted, didn’t you? You’ve ruined my work, all my careful planning. I want you to pay for that, dear boy. You and these things and the Jedi. And you’re going to help me make sure that they do.”

Anakin sneered at him. He’d almost reached Ben. He could see Ben struggling against the shadows, working his way free, though his progress was slow. If Anakin could help, they could… get out of this awful place, somehow. Figure something out. He snapped, “I’m never going to help you.”

Lightning danced across the room again. Ben didn’t scream, that time, just jerked, and slumped, all the struggle going out of him. “You will,” Palpatine said, “or I’ll kill him while you watch. He’ll die, screaming, right here. Is that what you want?”

Anakin stared at Ben, gasping on the ground, and glared back at Palpatine. “You’ll kill him anyway.”

Palpatine arched an eyebrow at him. “I give you my word,” he said, as though his word meant anything, “that I won’t harm him. I’m not an unreasonable man. You can get what you want, I can get what I want. Let us work together, Anakin.”

His words curled around Anakin’s thoughts. He felt a throb, deep in his mind, where their bond had once been, and recoiled. He could feel others moving through the tunnels. Troopers and Jedi, feeling something of what was going on below, coming to help. He wetted his lips. Maybe he could buy enough time for them to get there… “Let him go, now, and we’ll talk.”

Palpatine rolled his eyes. “I am not an idiot, dear boy. And this is not a negotiation.” Lightning flashed blinding in the room. Ben screamed, oh, Force. “If you want him to live, if you want this to stop while there’s still a chance he’ll survive, you will do as I say.”

Anakin listened to Ben make wet, gulping sounds. All he felt from Ben was pain, terrible agony. He blinked away the stinging in his eyes, and rasped, “What do you want me to do, then?”

He felt Palpatine’s pleasure, thick and greasy, against his mind. “I knew you’d see reason,” Palpatine said, gesturing back. “This requires little effort from you, Anakin. I know you’re tired. All you must do is climb up onto the altar behind you and lay down.”

Anakin glanced over his shoulder at the low, black construct. The Dark side radiated out of it, so vicious that it felt like a physical presence. A chill climbed his spine. “Why?” he asked, staring at the thing, feeling oddly pulled towards it, compelled to step forward. 

“Sacrifice is necessary,” Palpatine said, thick and pleased. “We don’t have much time. Do it.”

Anakin swallowed. “What will happen?” He took a step forward. There were strange stains on the stone, he saw. And indents, lines carved deep into the stone, moving in patterns that hurt to look upon. The Temple was up above, he thought. Built directly over this place, this heart of the Dark side. 

“Nothing you will need to worry about,” Palpatine said. Anakin smelled lightning in the air. “Do it, now, or fail the thing you love. It is your decision, Anakin.”

The troopers were almost there. Ahsoka was with them. Anakin put a hand on the altar. Maybe Palpatine would shift all his attention, once Anakin climbed on. Ben could… flee, the troopers could attack. It all felt so reasonable. 

Reasonable and poisonous. Palpatine’s word was worth nothing. Ahsoka was here in the Temple. So many others were here in the Temple.  _ Maybe  _ Ben would live, but Anakin doubted it. None of the others would.

He had to try something else. Fix this another way. Anakin swallowed, and said, “No.”

He felt Palpatine’s shock through the Force. He felt the surge of energy in the room, but he was already moving, catching the lightning against his saber before it could strike. He reached for the Force and it flowed into him, the way it always had. He had power and speed, Master Windu had given him that, and he shoved the lightning to the side, closing with Palpatine.

He’d never fought a combatant so skilled, he realized. For an old man, Palpatine was terribly strong and fast. He had a connection to the Force that rivaled Anakin’s, deep and spoiled by the Dark side. They exchanged blows, vicious and ruthless, and Anakin cried out when he was pushed back, when Palpatine snarled, tossing aside his saber and bringing a flood of lightning down, instead.

“You foolish boy!” he snarled, as Anakin warded off the raw energy with his saber, feeling the blade sputtering against the onslaught. The handle grew impossibly, burning hot in his grip, the crystal overloading. He gripped tighter and then screamed, horrified, when it exploded in his grip, pieces tearing through his palm, his arm, his chest. 

“You’ve ruined everything!” Palpatine cried, but the words were from somewhere else. All Anakin’s world had left was pain, burning his body up. Lightning crackled around him, his arm was in  _ agony _ . “If you had just—what—”

The pain stopped, all at once. Anakin coughed, flat on his back, marshalling enough strength to roll. Lighting still lit the cavernous space, but it wasn’t reaching him. Because Ben had managed to stand, sabers blocking the light, flickering, about to fail.

Ben glanced over his shoulder, his sabers hissing and sparking. His mouth worked for a moment, and then he shook his head, smiled, and looked away. He said, barely audible over Palpatine’s screaming curses and the crash of lightning, “Sacrifice  _ is  _ necessary.”

He dropped the sabers, lunging forward, and Anakin yelled something, unheard, watching Ben hit Palpatine in the chest. For a moment, he thought Ben would just bounce off, but Palpatine made a little sound, surprised, eyes going comically wide, looking, for a moment, like a tettering old man, and tipped backwards.

And they both disappeared.

Anakin didn’t remember standing. Certainly, he didn’t remember crossing the room. There was no conscious thought to any of it, just the knowledge that Ben had gone over the edge with a Sith Lord and Anakin wasn’t going to let him fall alone.

He jumped, without even thinking about it, barely hearing Ahsoka screaming after him.

Anakin fell. It barely registered. There was nothing but darkness all around and the whipping of wind, ignored as he reached outward, for Ben, with the Force. He pulled, hard, hearing a soft sound of surprise, the tearing of fabric, and then there was the impact of a body against his, spinning them both through the nothingness.

He curled an arm around Ben, holding him close, as though it would matter when they reached whatever was coming at the bottom of this pit. There was no breath to cry out, to say anything, as they tumbled and flipped; all his focus had to be on stabilizing them and trying to sense anything in the dark around them.

There were walls, stone things, that felt uncarved. Anakin reached towards them, pulling desperately with the Force, feeling Ben’s will stretched alongside his. They shifted through the air, their fall changing angle impossibly, the walls approaching at terrible speed. 

Impact was going to hurt, Anakin realized, almost dreamily. He shifted his grip on Ben, tightening his hold, not wanting to lose him when they—

Colliding with the rock face knocked the breath out of his chest and thoughts out of his head. He clung onto Ben through stubborn bloody-minded determination, too angry at the thought of dropping him to release his grip. They started sliding downward immediately, and it took Anakin terrible seconds to think enough to twist them, groping out with the mechanical hand, fingers gouging at stone, desperately.

He found a purchase, somehow, fingers sunk into stone. Their weight caught at his shoulder, and he cried out, the sound the first one punched out of him since he jumped over the edge. It echoed all around them, along with their breathing, as they hung there by four fingertips.

The stone felt cold, all against his side. The darkness was complete. His shoulder was on fire, but he had Ben, gripped tight with his other arm, so tight it hurt – he could feel the pain across their connection – but Ben didn’t seem to mind it, and Anakin didn’t dare loosen his grip.

Ben was clinging to him, as well, arms around him, breathing shaky and wetly, as he asked, “Anakin, what--”

Anakin lowered his head, bumping a kiss to Ben’s cheek, exalting when Ben shifted, turning his face, aligning their mouths. Anakin kissed him, as well as he could, gripping to the rock face, wondering how long he could hold them, realistically, and a voice yelled down from above, echoing through the cavernous space, “Master, we’re coming! I can feel you, just – just hold on! We’re coming!”

Anakin kissed Ben’s mouth again, ignoring the agony in his shoulder, the things he could feel tearing, and held on, listening to Ben make soft, soothing, shushing noises against his mouth, feeling Ben’s fingers, fluttery on his cheeks, wiping away tears he couldn’t feel.

#

Shadows had closed around Ben, curling around him, gripping him tight. He’d felt Anakin’s pain through them, heard him screaming. There were things wrong, inside of Ben. The lightning had… damaged him, left him reeling and so hurt he couldn’t think.

He didn’t really  _ need  _ to think to know he had to stop whatever was happening. But the Dark curled close to his skin, holding him in place, too much for him to break free on his own. He reached for the bond with his brothers, knowing it was going to hurt.

Sometimes, doing the necessary thing hurt.

He drew on them, each second of it agony, searing away the Dark with the warmth of the living Force. He stood, wobbling, and was glad he didn’t have to think or plan. There was nothing but instinct to getting between Palpatine and Anakin, nothing but the obvious to taking Palpatine over the edge, so he couldn’t hurt anyone else.

Ben let go of his brothers as he fell. He didn’t want them to feel what was coming next, too weak and exhausted to do anything but tumble through the dark.

He felt Anakin’s horror, from somewhere above, and then determination, which made no sense, really, until Anakin grabbed him out of the air. The following moments felt impossible, insane, ending with them pressed against a stone wall. He was fairly sure it was only the force of Anakin’s will keeping them from plunging further into the dark.

They hung there, Anakin panting against his skin, making terrible, hurt, animal sounds. Ben could only hold onto him, feeling his muscles jumping, his body shaking. There was no way to take the weight off of his arm, nothing to do but hold him.

Their rescuers seemed to take hours, days, or weeks, perhaps. A small eternity passed, hanging there in the dark, blood soaking through their robes and mingling together. And through it all he felt Anakin’s pain, and love, so much of it, curling around and into him.

He gave back as much as he could, pulling Anakin into the bond, away from the hurts in his body. They were tangled close, by the time a trooper was finally lowered to them, all lit up, riding on a swinging platform.

They were brought up, out of the dark. Anakin wouldn’t let go, his arm locked around Ben, so tight breathing was a bit of a challenge, and Ben waved away the troopers who tried to intervene. He leaned his head on Anakin’s shoulder, and Anakin shifted, kissed the crown of his head, and everyone saw, but Ben didn’t care anymore.

Didn’t care about any of it. He closed his eyes, Anakin’s exhaustion all blended with his, and they both went down to dreams, together.

#

They pulled Once out of the bacta tank and into a different world.

The medics took him out early, had no choice, apparently. They told him, afterwards, that they didn’t know what was happening to him. He’d had a seizure, in the tanks, and they’d been afraid he’d thrash free of the equipment and drown.

The seizure had passed, after only a brief period of time. Once didn’t mention the cause. No one had ever truly understood the connections between his brothers, anyway. It felt like an open wound, after he finally woke up. He left it alone.

There was enough to worry about, beyond that damage.

Cody looked exhausted, standing at Once’s bedside. He radiated stress and said little until the medics officially released Once. Once half-expected to be put in cuffs again and led back to the cell block, but Cody put a hand on his shoulder and turned him in the opposite direction.

Once asked, walking through a ship that felt quiet, grieving, “So, what did I miss?”

He’d missed the end of the war, it seemed. Well, the official end, anyway. The end on paper that had come after their last battle. He’d missed the Senate pushing through a general amnesty for the clone troopers, based, it seemed, on the fact that they couldn’t control what they were doing when they attacked the Jedi.

There was an amnesty for his brothers, as well, shoved through by Senator Amidala, who seemed to have taken up their cause most arduously. It seemed there were reports that she’d been seen with one of his brothers, very frequently.

The world had changed, suddenly and violently, and no one seemed to know quite what to do. Cody spoke quickly, radiating confusion and scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. They’d ended up in one of the small rooms they favored, one of their places.

There was a comfort in just being in that space, after so long in the cell. 

“They’re talking about restructuring the army,” Cody said, staring at nothing. “Giving us proper commissions, if we want them.”

“Do you want that?” Once asked, because it was the first part of the conversation that seemed directly relevant to  _ them _ . He reached out and caught Cody’s hand when Cody finally lowered it from his neck. It felt so good to touch him, again. He heard Cody suck in a little breath, turning his hand to thread their fingers together.

Cody shrugged. “I don’t really know how to be anything but a soldier,” he said, sounding tired.

Once nodded, and prompted, “But?”

“But I’m tired of fighting.” Cody said the words like he expected someone to bark a reprimand immediately. 

“We don’t have to figure it out right now,” Once said, shifting a little closer. The future felt far away. Distant. It was hard to think about it with Cody right there, touching his skin, knowing that he was not angry about what Once had done. 

“No,” Cody said, some of the tension in him easing away. He brought his other hand up, fingers curled under Once’s chin, lifting his face. “No, we don’t, do we?” His eyes were soft and warm. Dark. He said, quietly, “I’ve missed you.”

Once swayed into his touch. He felt drunk off of it, made dizzy and distracted. No one had touched him in so long. He swallowed, hard, wanting so much that it tangled on his tongue. “Show me,” he managed, and Cody leaned closer, kissed him sweet and slow.

They had an entire future to figure out. The thought of it was almost overwhelming. But they had time, now, to do it. There was going to  _ be  _ a future. 

Once pressed closer, cautious joy fluttering in his chest, and decided the future could wait, just a little while.

#

Anakin missed the parades for the end of the war. Apparently, they were very impressive, but he was floating in a bacta tank for all of them. He’d done terrible damage to his shoulder and that wasn’t even counting the injuries he’d taken from Palpatine and the explosion of his lightsaber. He heard about the parades from Ahsoka, barely listening as they pulled him out of the tank and got him cleaned up and sent back to his quarters.

He felt her concern for him, all her worry and relief spilling over, and so he nodded along with her explanations of what had happened, through the distraction of Ben standing  _ right there _ .

Ben looked… better. He was wearing clean robes. All the blood had been washed off his skin. He must have spent some time in the bacta tanks, too, because he didn’t feel hurt, the way he had. Ahsoka was telling Anakin something about a Senate ruling about the clones and their autonomy, written by Senator Amidala and pushed through by Chancellor Organa, apparently.

It sounded like something Anakin would need to care about, later. So did Rex’s reports about the state of the  _ Peacemaker _ and the treaty signed by the Separatists a few days ago.

Anakin nodded, gaze still on Ben. The sight of him satisfied something that hadn’t been soothed by feeling him through their bond, flooding relief and joy out through Anakin’s chest. Ben must have picked it up, because he flushed and stepped forward, towards Anakin, before catching himself.

They’d been clinging to one another, when their rescuers finally rappelled down from above, but that had been excusable, in the moment. Anakin felt Ben’s restraint, felt him shove down his wants, and heard them all, when Ben said, “It’s good to see you on your feet, General.”

Anakin flinched, reaching out to him, feeling Ahsoka’s surprise when he touched Ben’s face. “Just Anakin,” he said, watching Ben’s eyes go soft and wide. “Please.”

“Anakin,” he said, holding Anakin’s gaze, something jumping between them. 

From far away, he heard Rex say something to Ahsoka about coming back later. He listened to the door open and close. “You could have died,” Ben said, half-accusatory, taking another little step closer to him, and Anakin shook his head.

“I wasn’t going to let you go alone,” he said, watching Ben swallow, the distance between them suddenly far too great. He jerked forward, and pulling Ben close felt like coming home, something he’d never had, something he’d only imagined and wanted selfishly his entire life.

Ben made a sound against his mouth, pressed close to him, a hand in Anakin’s hair. Anakin had missed him, Force, so much. Their brief contact on Zygerria, tainted as it had been with everything about that world, hadn’t been enough. Nowhere near enough. He wanted this every day, every second, with every breath he took.

“Yes,” Ben panted, and Anakin didn’t know if he was picking up Anakin’s thoughts, or if words had slipped his control. It didn’t matter, because he could feel all Ben’s wants and needs, aligning with his own, clicking into place. There was no sour tang of fear to their touch, no dread, no hesitation when Ben started shoving at Anakin’s robes.

Anakin pushed them off, briefly amused that he’d only just put them  _ on _ . He had new scars, but Ben had never minded his scars, the marks on his skin. Ben’s touch made him shiver, pushing closer, tugging at the closures on Ben’s tunics, wanting them  _ off _ .

He paused, for a beat, when Ben slid the fabric down his arms, grabbing his undershirt and peeling it off in one moment, and it brought back memories of the first time they’d done this, Ben right out of the bacta tank, overlaid temporarily with images of Ben, under the hands of the medics, his shoulder stained purple-black with bruises.

“Force,” Anakin choked, freezing for a moment, “I’m so sorry, I--”

Ben made a little sound, shaking his head, moving back close, hand curling around Anakin’s neck, pulling him down, into a soft kiss. “Sh,” he said, between kisses, taking Anakin’s arm, bringing it up, pressing Anakin’s hand to his skin, without hesitation. 

Anakin stroked fingers over skin, carefully, softly. There were new scars on Ben, too. They’d both carry marks from that fight under the Temple for the rest of their lives. But they’d come through. He shifted, bending to brush lips over Ben’s throat, over the curve of his shoulder. “You’re everything to me,” he said, needing to say it, to put the words into the universe.

Ben shivered, fingers sunk into Anakin’s hair, holding him close. He said, “I know, Anakin,” and Anakin needed to kiss him, every inch of his skin, seeing no reason not to start immediately. Ben moved with him, feedback flowing through their connection, each jolt of his pleasure sinking down into Anakin’s skin. Anakin wanted, so badly, to wipe away all the hurts, override them with pleasure.

He’d missed fitting his hands around Ben’s hips, pressing them to the mattress. He’d missed dropping kissing across Ben’s stomach, feeling him shiver and pant for breath, he’d missed the taste of skin, the way Ben was always staring at him if Anakin glanced up, wide-eyed with his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

And he missed Ben pulling him up, arms curled languid around Anakin’s shoulders, cradling him close. It felt perfect, like everything Anakin had wanted, and the things he’d been stupid enough to lose, had somehow been given back to him. He kissed Ben’s mouth, shifting against him, restless and needing, until Ben said, “Anakin, please, I want--”

And Anakin knew, saw it all,  _ felt it _ , true and deep. He shifted again, closer, watching Ben, needing to see his expression, needing to see how much he wanted. He knew how to take Ben apart, remembered, and he wanted all of it, all at once.

Ben made the best sounds, always had, gasping and swearing and pleading. His hands slid over Anakin’s arms, his shoulders, gripping tight, like there was any way Anakin would go anywhere. He never wanted to be anywhere else, but with Ben tangled around him, stuttering his name with each movement.

It couldn’t last, and Anakin knew it. It had been so long, he’d wanted so much, and he curled over, kissing Ben hard, moving a hand between them as the feedback loop spilled into overload in a blaze of dizzy pleasure and heat.

The kiss stretched, languid, afterwards. Ben slid his hands down, skimming over Anakin’s skin, until he could fit their fingers together. Anakin held on tight as their bond moved and thrummed and filled the entirety of the world.

There were questions that needed answers, Anakin knew that.  _ What now _ seemed foremost among them. But that could wait. It could  _ all  _ wait, just for a little while, as he nuzzled back against Ben’s jaw and kissed him in the spot that made him squirm and tilt his head, bearing the entirety of his throat, trusting Anakin with the softest parts of him.

They’d figure it out later. Anakin had what he wanted most, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, folks, that's it! The end of this fic that got about, oh, 40k longer than I planned. Thank you so much for taking this trip with me. I hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> I still have a lot (A LOT) of thoughts about this particular AU. It's lived in my brain for two years and now it's done. It almost doesn't feel real!
> 
> ETA: I'm posting ficlets based on this fic on my tumblr: [https://www.tumblr.com/blog/glimmerglanger](right%20here) feel free to come read or suggest things you'd like to seeeeeeee.


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